Rhaego: Brother to Dragons
by LostCriesofTime
Summary: Daenerys had a choice to make: the love of her life or the unborn future of House Targaryen? What if she chose Rhaego? Can one child change everything? AU story Welcome to Essos and Westeros, just not entirely as you know them. Let's see what happens when you wake the dragon. /Currently editing to improve early chapters/
1. Prologue

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_..._

* * *

_**Prologue**_

* * *

He had led her out into the peace and quiet of the mountainside while the moon shone majestically overhead, illuminating their path and bathing them in a faint, silvery light. As they trotted along in silence she stroked the mare, a wedding gift which had delighted her just hours ago, in a desperate attempt to calm her nerves and quieten her heart as it thumped violently against her ribcage.

This was it, this man-creature was about to claim her as his own by taking her virginity and possessing her body in the same way she had seen the other violent, vulgar creatures do to the women of their tribe in the wedding rituals earlier that day. As an observer she had felt sickened at the sight of such degrading acts, now she would be a participant and she was afraid.

Would it hurt? Would she disgrace herself with undignified cries? Would he even care?

She stared at the muscle knotted back riding on the stallion before her and knew that, if he needed to, he could force her. He was a strong man, the finest warrior among his tribe and with his symbolic uncut hair he commanded the unwavering respect of his Khalasar; such status was not achieved by being gentle or unwilling to take what was wanted by force.

She, by contrast, was a thirteen year old girl, petite in frame and gentle by nature. What chance would she even stand?

"_I gladly would let the whole Dothraki tribe rape you if it got me back my crown, little sister…"_ she shivered remembering her brother's words. She would find no aid from her King if she did struggle against this union.

She was a young girl, lost and alone in the hands of destiny. Her family had been overthrown in a bloody battle in the weeks before she had even been born, her mother had died as Daenerys entered the world, she had been raised on foreign soil and weaned on stories of the Targaryen's former greatness and now she was being thrown to the mercy of a man who seemed to her to be more of a barbarian than respectable potential ally to the Iron Throne. In this moment, as the fear of what Khal Drogo was about to do overwhelmed her, she felt utterly powerless.

_No!_ a voice suddenly cried in her head, revealing for the first time an assertiveness she had never been aware of as it bubbled up to the surface in fiery rebellion_. I am the daughter and granddaughter of Queens, heir to the great line of Targaryen. I am not powerless, I am Daenerys Stormborn_.

Her bright violet eyes blazed as she began to hold her chin up high._ That's right, I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen and I will meet this fate with dignity and pride, as is right for a woman of my lineage_, she decided at that moment. _I will not cower like a child any longer, tonight I become a woman and a Queen_.

Moments later Khal Drogo directed his horse to stop at a breathtaking location overlooking the sea. His eyes met hers expectantly and with great control she did not drop her gaze but stared directly into his eyes as she dismounted with a dignity she had not known she possessed.

It was time.

He slowly circled her, his eyes taking in each detail of her appearance; from the way the wind whipped the material of her dress softly about her budding curves to the stray strands of hair playing before her eyes.

"No," he whispered as he tucked the stray hairs gently behind her ears.

Daenerys found herself momentarily caught off guard at the soft tone in his voice and the strange warmth in his eyes.

He circled her some more, gently exploring her body with his rough, callused hands. The sensation was unusual but not at all unpleasant. She looked down at the ground around her feet as she felt a blush creep up on her cheeks.

"No," he whispered again as he took her chin in his hand and tilted it up to face him, gazing intensely into her wide, doe like eyes with an expression she had never seen before.

Then he slowly removed the straps of her dress from her shoulders, causing the flimsy material to flutter lightly to the ground, pooling gracelessly around her ankles.

She had promised herself that when this moment came she would not cower away like a child, yet standing before this man naked made her feel so vulnerable that for a moment she forgot herself and, by instinct, covered up her breasts and private region with her arms. Protecting herself.

A slight frown crossed the Khal's face as he wrapped his large hands around her small wrists and gently pried them away. "No," he admonished as he took in the sight of her standing naked before him, a smile curving his lips slightly.

She gasped and as he began to relieve himself of clothing the panic which she had so valiantly fought down began to take hold of her once more.

"_I am a Queen,"_ she tried to tell herself sternly as she watched him pull down his loin cloth, yet this no longer reassured her. Despite her desperate attempt to meet this man with the fierce honour expected of a Targaryen, she was horrified to find tears escaping and running down her cheeks as she thought of what was about to happen. What he would do to her.

He stopped what he was doing and looked into her eyes as the tears streaked down her face. Another frown creased his brow as he reached out his thumb to carefully wipe away the streaks of water from her soft skin.

"No," he whispered sadly, shaking his head at her fear. He wished he could better communicate to her that he did not want to harm her.

He took her soon after that and while it was slightly uncomfortable and painful at times, he was not anywhere near as rough as the men she had witnessed from his tribe at their wedding feast. In fact, he had been gentle and caring throughout the entire ordeal, shocking her with his concern.

And it was done. She was now no longer the fearful and unsure young girl who had been so easily dominated by her brother, but a woman and a Queen.

The fire in her belly had been awoken and it promised to engulf all of the seven kingdoms before it was through.

House Targaryen was not so easily broken.

* * *

**_A/N~ Thanks so much for reading guys._**  
**_This is my first ever fanfiction piece so any feedback on what I could do to improve would be so much appreciated!_**


	2. Shekh ma Shieraki anni

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_..._

Just wanted to say sorry I took forever to update. I took some time to learn a little Dothraki because I wanted to use it here to show the stilted progress of the relationship and communication between Daenerys and Drogo in the beginning.  
(If I got any of it wrong or slightly off then please let me know, I'm not at all confident with using it but figured I'd rather just update that wait to get proficient.)

* * *

_**Chapter one:  
**__Shekh Ma Shieraki Anni - My Sun and Stars_

* * *

At first it had been difficult adapting to her new life, but Daenerys had grown so much in the past few weeks. While it was true that she had initially struggled to cope with the saddle sores as they popped and oozed down her legs, so painful and debilitating, as well as the general physical demands, now she found she was growing accustomed to life on the move. At the side of her Khal she was blossoming into a fearsome and passionate Khalessi; embracing her status as the Queen among these strange and proud warriors by enlisting the help of her maids Jhiqui and Irri to teach her the Dothraki language and way of life.

Her thighs ached from so much time spent in the saddle and her once soft, delicate hands were now forming calluses as she was determined to throw herself in to the lifestyle of these people, everything from learning to set up her own tent to training to wield an arakh. If she was to have authority in more than just name, if she was to become more than just the lead whore in this society, she had to come to understand their ways. She would earn their respect and loyalty, not just expect it in the way that her brother seemed to.

"And when the Khal rides into battle, it is customary to say _Shieraki gori ha yeraan_," Jhiqui was explaining as Daenerys tried her best to concentrate. "It means 'the stars charge for you'," the young slave girl clarified as she noticed her mistress's glazed over expression.

Daenerys nodded absently and attempted a smile to reassure her servant, whose eyes now brimmed with concern.

"Khaleesi." She laid a hand gently on Daenery's shoulder, "is everything okay? You look a little pale..er than usual."

Truth be told Daenerys had been feeling strange all morning, refusing to eat and snapping at her unfortunate maid Doreah after the girl suggested they resume their lessons on the womanly arts of love. Very out of character. It was strange, she had always been the picture of health with the constitution of an ox, never having a day of illness as a child, yet today she felt sick to her stomach.

The world swayed briefly and her insides lurched.

"Khalessi?" Jhiqui was now crouched by her side, examining her clammy forehead with gentle fingers and shouting to the other maids for cold water and a bucket.

The bucket arrived moments too late.

Daenerys bent over and threw up violently, gasping for breath between sobs as her three maids soothed her and offered sips of water during the breaks in her retches. After several minutes her head cleared and her insides seemed to settle. She felt strangely hollow and shaky all over but, all things considered, much improved.

In a desperate attempt to regain her former dignity Daenerys sat up straight, wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and gave Jhiqui a faint smile.

"'The stars charge for you'," she mused quietly as her maids settled around her, "how elegant."

And with that her lesson continued.

* * *

She was pregnant, there was no doubt about it now.

Daenerys placed her right hand over her small belly in awe. Truth be told the reality that there was a budding life in there hadn't quite sunk in yet and probably would not feel real until she held the child in her arms.

Had she still been in Westeros a giant celebration would have been in order, with all of the important families travelling from far and wide to pay their respects to the unborn Targaryen she was carrying, the future of the seven kingdoms. There would be nights of feasting and dancing, silk gowns twirling around beautiful, well brought up maidens as they flirted with the well mannered gentlemen of the court. There would be days of jousting and hunting, prizes won and honours bestowed and endless gifts presented, laid at her feet for her unborn child. Poems would be composed for them, plays written, people would scramble to steal a glance at their young, beautiful and fertile queen.

All of these things were phantoms of a time now past, of a life stolen by grasping hands, a life she should have led but had instead heard about only from stories told to her for as long as she could remember, stories of the life she was born to and torn from. Stories of the greatest of dynasties, the rule of the House of Dragons.

She would have been glorified and praised by the masses, adored and revered by the people who would have felt secure knowing that there was an heir to the Iron Throne, that there was stability for the kingdom. She would have stood beside her husband, most likely a male relative of the highest status, well brought up and educated, and together they would have gazed over their kingdom as it danced away before them like clockwork, ticking to their will.

That was what it was to be Dragonborn.

She felt the fire kindling once more inside of her as she dwelt on the birthright which had been stolen from her and her child to come.

Bile then rose in her throat as Daenerys allowed her thoughts to drift to her mother.

She wondered whether such a feast had been thrown when her own existence had become known to her family. Had they celebrated lavishly, despite the tense political situation? Had it provided a reprieve from the warmongering of the lesser families? Had the Kingslayer and usurper come to pay their respects before they destroyed all that the Targaryens had built for the kingdom?

Had there been quails eggs and pigeon pies, roasted peacock and duck, jellies and sweetmeats?

Had her mother laughed with joy and naive hope as she felt the kick of unborn life in her womb? Had she held hope in her heart for a bright future for their family?

Or had she known nothing but fear as events unfolded around her, as the darkness crept in and death snapped at their heels?

Her poor mother. It was for her sake that Daenerys had done all of this. She could have crawled into anonymity years ago for a quiet life, but to do so would have meant her mother's sacrifice would be for nothing as the usurper would have won.

Unacceptable.

So instead she had been married off to a man she had feared, been raised to the rank of Khaleesi, now sat as Queen of a people she had known nothing about and finally conceived a child to continue the family name. Westeros would once more know their true king and Daenerys would not die before she saw the traitors who now draped her family's throne burn to dust, their names thrown to the wind to be forgotten, scattered by the sands of time into insignificance as her family rose from the ashes to a blazing glory once more.

Fire does not kill dragons, it only rekindles their strength to bring them back stronger than ever before.

Fire and blood.

Such thoughts brought her back to the situation she was now in. She was no Princess in the halls of King's Landing, sweeping through luxurious rooms to be waited on hand and foot. She was the Khaleesi of a large Khalasar, a warrior queen. A far cry from the comforts of 'home', yet fast becoming a home of sorts. Such was the absurdity of the Game of Thrones that a pure blood royal could make a life among savages.

Viserys may have believed this to be an unjust punishment, this waiting for his promised crown and dwelling among these man-beasts, but Daenerys chose to see it as an opportunity.

However, there were times when the allure of the life that they had lost was strong.

For example, in a sharp contrast to the genteel celebrations of Westeros, the Dothraki tradition when discovering you are pregnant was somewhat different, somewhat more... _Dothraki_. Daenerys had recently discovered, when Irri had warned her, that she would be expected to eat the raw heart of a stallion in a ceremony which would foretell the fate of the young warrior she was nurturing inside her and give him a beast's strength. Once such a thought would have disgusted her to her very core, but now as Khaleesi she would devour that heart with spirit and make her Khal proud to call her the mother of his child. To disgrace him in the eyes of his people was not an option.

Yet she could not deny that jousting matches and night-long dances held more of an attraction for her than uncooked animal organs ever could.

It was sometimes good to remind herself of what she fought for.

"Jalan atthirari anni," called a gruff voice from the tent's entrance as her husband threw aside the material covering the slit in their tent's material and strode up to her, gazing intently into her shimmering violet eyes. In private he had recently taken to calling her by the affectionate Dothraki term which translated as _moon of my life_ and was reserved for intimate lovers. Yet another aspect of how he treated her that had been a shock to her expectations.

"Shekh ma shieraki anni," she answered as she smiled up at his stern face, catching the expression of tenderness in his eyes and blushing as he slowly stroked her jawline, the rough pads of his fingers sending shivers across her skin.

This had been the first Dothraki phrase she had learnt, eager to respond to Khal Drogo's use of such intimate terms. It meant _my sun and stars_ and Daenerys found it to be a most beautiful sentiment, so poetic for a nomadic warrior's tongue. In fact, she was beginning to realise that she had underestimated and misjudged the Dothraki quite considerably for the more she learned of their ways the more she saw that there was real beauty to be found what had first appeared to be, to her, a barbaric and primitive culture.

Man-beasts, as her brother called them.

Yes they were public in their rutting, yes they raped and fought with abandon, yes they made no castles and lived on the move like cattle, yet they were showing her day by day of the beauty contained in life's simple wonders, and she found them to be a beautiful and intriguing people for all of their rough ways.

Jhiqui dutifully stepped forward to act as a translator between husband and wife the moment Khal Drogo began to speak.

_"I teach you more bow and arrow shooting now."_ His voice was low, almost a growl and it made the Dothraki syllables sound even more harsh than normal. He then dropped the hand which was caressing her abruptly, spun on his heel and left, expecting her to follow. Which she did, eager to learn a new skill.

As she walked outside, through the sea of tents and people, she was conscious of the many pairs of dark eyes following her. The Dothraki appraised her openly, curious to observe day in day out how their foreigner was adapting to the rigorous demands that came with their lifestyle. She knew she had a way to go before she was respected in her own right, but if she was honest with herself she was relishing stepping up to the challenge. To see admiration in their eyes one day would be a sweet prize indeed, more so for she knew her status as khaleesi or mother to their future khal alone could not give her that, it would be something she would have to earn for herself with hard work and dedication. She had never had the chance to prove herself to anyone before and, while some days she worried she would never meet the mark, others a determination the likes of which she had never before felt welled up inside her and felt good. Felt strong. On those days she felt she could truly achieve anything, should she put her mind to it, young and naive though she may be.

She sometimes wished Viserys would join her in opening his mind to the new experiences the Dothraki lifestyle and honour code opened up for them, too. If only to win more favour with the people of the tribe who sneered at him often in disdain as he rode in the same filthy, tattered silks each day. She wished he could enjoy the freedom they gave, the thrill of riding through the plains at the head of a fearsome khalasar, the rush of learning to wield a weapon. Yet she knew more than anyone how arrogant he could be and she was beginning to worry more and more that it may one day be his undoing.

There had been a time, before marrying Khal Drogo all those moons ago, when she had never questioned her brother's rightful place as ruler and king. She had accepted it as undisputed fact, the same as she had accepted all the stories she was fed and all the opinions he gave as being wise and true. Where they did not see eye to eye, she assumed it was her lack of wit or understanding which clouded her judgement, never wondering if it was in fact her brother in the wrong. Such thoughts flew in the face of all the knew to be true. Her brother was the dragon, a being of wisdom and fearsome strength reborn, anointed to bring stability back to their homeland. One she had never known, except in the tales she was told of years long gone.

Yet now as she observed him more closely she could not help but wonder if she had been correct. She had first started noticing this as she took the time to scrutinise how her husband led and in so doing could not help but contrast the two men, with her brother always coming up lacking. At first she had denied such a thing to herself, coming up with excuses for their stark differences. They were from different cultures. What it took to be an effective leader here was worlds apart from back home. Not that she could say that for sure, having never seen her homeland. Drogo was brawn while Viserys was brain. Yet she saw the cunning and brains of her khal and reconsidered simplifying him so. He was both while truth be told Viserys was neither. His brain was only as good as the advisors who he gathered around him, without them in these harsh plains surrounded by Dothraki he began to quickly lose his way, lose his very wits. She had to admit on top of this that he was volatile and not particularly skilled or inspiring as a leader, painfully arrogant without any discernible ability to back up his many claims of supremacy.

Fiercely loyal, she hated to think such thoughts of her own kin, but her time with the Dothraki had changed her in ways she had not anticipated. Maybe neither had he. Now she was no young girl to believe all she was told, now she had eyes to see and, having been opened, she could not close them again to all around her.

Khal Drogo walked silently ahead of her as she walked distractedly, lost deep in her own thoughts, until they found themselves in a meadow of sorts far away from the sounds and smells of the camp.

Abruptly Drogo held a hand out to stop her, pointing to a tree roughly eighty meters away from where they stood. How long they had been walking, Daenerys could not have said but a faint throbbing in the muscles of her legs as they finally came to a halt told her it had been a while.

"Ovvethas rekke feshith," he commanded, speaking slowly and using simple Dothraki terms which she was started to become familiar with. _Shoot that tree. _Yes, she could do that.

She nodded and raised her chin, taking the proffered bow and arrow from him and smoothly arranging her body into the stance she had been shown in their last session: feet apart, stomach held in, body side on to the target. She could feel his gaze boring in to her while she was threading the arrow and taking aim. She felt the flush spread across her cheeks. Under his scrutiny she suddenly felt foolish and clumsy in her attempts to hold the large bow in position.

What was she playing at? She was no warrior.

_But I will be soon_, the voice in her head rang out fiercely as she grit her teeth together and focused all of her energy on the target before her. How hard could it be, really?

She drew the string of the bow taunt, it took a great deal of strength to hold it there as she began aiming the arrow as accurately as she could before finally releasing it with a sigh.

To her horror the arrow managed about three or four feet before landing unceremoniously among a patch of clover. Her face grew bright red and she dropped her gaze, ashamed to look upon the face of her husband after such a complete failure.

To her surprise he began to laugh, walking casually over to pick up the arrow before presenting it to her once more with a gleam in his eyes.

"Kijinosos, lajaki." He patted her cheek tenderly, "vitisheras." _Not like that, little warrior. Observe_.

She smiled to herself bashfully at the note of pride in his voice as he called her lajaki, _little warrior_, and made a mental note of his every movement as he positioned himself ready to fire. She was not surprised when his arrow hit the tree directly in the centre of its trunk, she expected nothing less from her Khal, the warrior of uncut hair himself.

_Not impressed,_ the voice once more interjected and she startled herself with what she did next.

"No." She crossed her arms and stared up at him, quirking an eyebrow and shaking her head slowly with a glint in her own eyes, one of mischief and challenge. She wanted to see better than that. She knew that he had more to offer than that mediocre display, that hitting a tree trunk at eighty meters was no test of his skills. She instead pointed to a small apple in the tree twenty meters further behind their target.

"Hit that apple," she said as clearly as she could, making her meaning obvious by including gestures.

"Qazer?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked at her, causing her heart to skip a beat, and pointed to the ripe red fruit hanging from the tree.

"Yes, hit that _qazer._" She nodded, scrunching her nose up as she sounded out the unfamiliar Dothraki word on her tongue. She gave him a challenge worthy of a khal with a twinkle in her eyes which delighted him.

He grunted as if such an easy thing were beneath him, but positioned another arrow anyway. Taking aim with exaggerated care and firing, they both watched as the arrow split the apple in half, flying directly through the middle in an impressive feat of marksmanship. Juice sprayed out like a pyromancer's firebreath in the night's sky, dripping down the shaft as the branch the apple was attached to swung gently in the breeze.

Her eyes widened slightly and he grinned over his shoulder at her.

"Chek," he muttered nonchalantly to himself as he handed her the bow. _Good_.

"Chek," she agreed, sending him running across the meadow after her as she raced to claim the apple for her own. He overtook her easily, the muscles in his powerful long limbs pumping furiously and she shouted after him in mock outrage as he leaped up to swipe the apple and, plucking the arrow from its sweet, ripe flesh, took a hearty bite. The juice ran in rivulets down his face and as she reached up to snatch it from him playfully, he held it high above his head and waved it over them both, raining down splashes of apple juice and tiny chunks of flesh upon their heads as they laughed like children.

She did not get any where near the target that day. Or the next. It was only on the third day that she finally hit the illusive tree, barely believing her eyes as the arrow embedded itself into the bark.

She had looked to her instructor then, with wide eyes and an open mouth but even more shocking than her achievement had been see the flash of a giant, proud grin flit across his face. Just for a second.

"Chek." He nodded gruffly to her after regaining composure. He then had her repeat her success over and over again until he was satisfied her shot had not been a lucky accident.

_You may make a Khaleesi out of me, yet,_ she thought happily.

She felt a stirring in his stomach as the kindles grew.

* * *

A few moons later, having grown far more confident with speaking the Dothraki tongue, she finally told him that she was pregnant with his child. She had wanted to wait and tell him herself and now, lying naked and curled up on their animal pelts together by the flickering light of the fire, she felt the moment was perfect. The proud smile which he had greeted her with upon her archery success was nothing compared to the reaction this news brought out.

_"Moon of my life,"_ he cried, drawing her into an embrace in his powerful arms. _"We shall soon have a son?"_

_"A strong warrior, like his father."_ She nodded, smiling as he laid a hand over her stomach in wonder.

_"Our_ Khalakka_,"_ he murmured softly. _Our prince_.

She placed her hand on top of his and looked into his face. His expression was tender, his eyes liquid pools of brown and his lip quivered slightly with emotions she had never seen him show. He looked overwhelmed and rapturous and when he turned his gaze back to Daenerys there was a warmth in them which clutched at her chest fiercely.

_Shekh ma shieraki anni, I think I am falling in love with you._

The two of them lapsed into a delicious silence as they began to imagine the future they would carve for their unborn child, and when sleep finally took them it was to a place filled with vivid dreams of the countless possibilities which spread out before them, ripe for the picking.

In the corner of the room on the surface of the dressing table the three dragon eggs began to glow slightly with pulsating light as the dragons inside stirred. Daenerys felt a strange sensation as the child inside her also moved, eager to unite with his brothers.

_"Our time approaches, little brother,"_ the voices touched his mind as he settled. _"We will soon come forth through blood and fire."_

* * *

**_A/N~ Thanks so much for reading guys._**  
**_This is my first ever fanfiction piece so any feedback on what I could do to improve would be so much appreciated!_**


	3. Jalan Atthirari Anni

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

* * *

_**Chapter two:  
**__Jalan Atthirari Anni - Moon of my Life_

* * *

As he trained, swinging the arakh in a fluid and deadly motion as if it were an extension of his own limbs, his mind wandered. His muscles stretched taunt with each strike and the beat of his heart thrummed life into his veins as his body rehearsed the familiar movements and his mind drifted always to the same thoughts. He was soon to be a father and he could not be more proud.

The reality had not yet sunk in, not even now days into their pilgrimage to Vaes Dothrak, and every time he thought of starting a family with his woman, each time he pictured returning from a raid to the sight of her tender face singing to their baby as they fell asleep or lovingly bathing them as they wriggled and shrieked, his chest tightened and soared with elation. She was more than just his woman, she was his khaleesi, fierce and proud as he, and soon to be the mother to his future khalakkas.

His passion for her only grew with each passing sun. She was diligent in learning their language and customs and while her blunders made him laugh heartily from time to time, he admired her dedication in all things. Even their love making.

His step nearly faltered during his training as he thought upon the new and creative things she had brought to their tent each night. Different ways to pleasure him, tease him, taunt him. He drove her wild, his khaleesi. That glint in her eyes when she wanted him, that flicker of a smile as she took him in her mouth, that whimper as he had her and she enjoyed it almost more than he. She was ferocious, too, which he loved. Even now he bore the marks of their passion, red welts down his back and fading bite marks down his neck. Many times she could be playful and she would pretend to fight him off, giggling like a child as she threw animal pelts at him and ran around the tent until he caught her and had her. Sometimes she even had him, he grinned just remembering the first time she had taken control.

Yes, his khaleesi was truly something. She snatched the very air from his lungs when he saw her. Other women paled by comparison.

Sweat snaked its way down his back as the heavy sun beat its rays against him, pushing him to train harder, to push past the boundaries of his endurance. He swung the blade and was satisfied to hear the rush of noise as he sliced through the very air. He knew he was a great warrior; possessing the skill and experience as well as the fury in his veins, not to be called upon lightly, that brought him respect from all those around him. Other powerful Khals would see his uncut hair and dip their heads in awe. He was a beast in the body of a man, a true blooded Stallion.

Yet he knew with certainty that his son would be a far greater warrior than he.

He pushed his muscles further as the pain seared through them. It was the good pain, the pain that foretold progress as he once more cut down those barriers of his body's limitations. Sweat stung his eyes and he shook his head, ceasing his training ritual for less than a second and never losing focus. The fire in his veins invigorated him as his muscles screamed out against such treatment and the waves of adrenaline washed over him.

By the time he had finished he wanted nothing more than his Khaleesi and felt a moment's satisfaction knowing that she would want him too.

An even greater fire ran through her veins.

* * *

_Vaes Dothrak_  
_Two Moons Later_

* * *

His Khaleesi had stared up into his eyes with a fierce determination which quickened his bloodbeat, her eyes burning into his like twin stars as she devoured the large, raw heart in her hands. Bite by bite she ripped at the huge organ which sat in her hands, almost the size of her own face. The ferocious glint in her eyes stirred him, he knew she would not fail him here, before his brothers and the crones of the Dosh Khaleen.

Truth be told, when he had first married this woman before him, from time to time he had worried that she was not true Khaleesi material, that she would not be able to adapt to the expectations of life in the Khalasar. He had thought her just an ornament, not seeing past her dainty and fragile beauty to the woman beneath. Yet slowly he had come to see that lurking under this frail exterior bubbled a powerful warrior who had been just waiting to break out.

His woman would be underestimated no more, with each ripped away mouthful she took, with each blood splattering that ran down her chin, she was showing the members of her Khalasar, and him, that she had the true spirit of a Dothraki. Although he had known this for a while his blood still pounded with pride renewed as he watched her consume the heart of the beast.

Only a few more chunks to go.

His eyes had never left hers as he had known this would be difficult for her, so different from her own traditions. He also knew that she had prepared for this day, practicing by eating blood clots to avoid recoiling at the strange texture and then starving herself these last few days. She had taken this seriously and would not let him down.

However, for a moment it looked as if she was close to gagging on the flesh as she tried to force it down. He stared at her even more intently, his eyes boring into hers as he willed his strength into her soul.

_Come on, my little warrior!_ He fought down the urge to shout encouragement, drawing his eyebrows together as she struggled.

_I don't need your strength My Sun and Stars. _Her eyes flashed proudly as she successfully composed herself and took the last few mouthfuls in one vicious bite. She flicked him a small smile and the sight of her with a chin covered in blood, teeth stained red and eyes fierce aroused him greatly. His Khaleesi, how could he have ever feared she woudl falter, even for a moment. He should not underestimate her, he reminded himself, she was a dragon who danced among mortals. She was fire, he could not tame or control her.

He had truly chosen well.

She raised her chin and met the eyes of those around her, her people, victoriously as the Dosh Khaleen made their prediction of the child.

Drogo tore his attention away from her for a moment, eager to hear news of their unborn. Would it be a son? Even if it wasn't, he would still enjoy training a girl to greatness, to be as strong and wild as her mother, the Moon of his Life. Whatever they had, Drogo knew in that moment that he would be proud.

"As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his Khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name." The members of the dosh khaleen trembled as they spoke and Drogo noticed some glanced at his Khaleesi as if they were afraid, their dark eyes wide. "The prince is riding, and he shall be the Stallion Who Mounts the World."

There was silence in the tent as the words reverberated and died away, their meaning left to sink in.

Khal Drogo felt his head reel at such news. His own son was the prophesied leader of all Dothraki? Yet it made sense, when you mate a Stallion with a Dragon you do not bring forth cattle.

He stared down at his woman once more and saw the same conclusion touch her mind. They both rose slowly, he walked over to her side and lay a hand over her slight bump, feeling a thrumming beneath his fingers as if the life inside could feel the atmosphere and was responding eagerly. Stirring for them.

"Khalakka anni," he whispered, _my prince_. Tears pricking his eyes at the raw power of such a moment.

"Rai!" _Hurrah_! The voices of his Khasar broke the spell of silence that had descended and reminded him of where he was. The shout was met with a gradually growing response from every person present, soon forming a chant as the huge tent erupted with cheers which were soon echoed from the camped Dothraki spotted across the whole of Vaes Dothrak. All raising voices in celebration and reverence of his unborn son; The Stallion Who Mounts the World.

He held his Khaleesi's tiny, white hand in his and raised it above their heads to a fierce roar from their people. His bloodbeat soared wildly, this was a moment none would forget as they cried out for the promised Khal of Khals.

"We shall call him Rhaego," she whispered softly so that only he could hear. He sounded out the name in his head, it was strong and while it meant nothing in Dothraki he was sure it held some significance for his woman by the way her eyes shone as she suggested it. Very well, Rhaego it was. He nodded down at her and she smiled, turning to the people to announce their decision.

"Khalakka dothrae mr'anha!" she cried out above the stomping of feet and the roar of exultation. _A prince rides inside me._ She had practised this phrase too, he knew, and he could not tell that the words tasted foreign on her tongue, she roared them out with such spirit. "Rhaego, khalakka anni!" _Rhaego, my prince._

His bloodrate soared yet again as the whole of Vaes Dothrak seemed to take up the chant of his son's name.

"Rhaego! Rhaego!" they cried, loud enough to shake dust.

It was only out of the corner of his eye, as he picked up and swung his wife in the air with a joy that could not be contained, that he saw that snake-like brother of hers, Viserys, stalk out of the tent. He wore a look on his pesky face that did not bode well. He was loathe to leave the celebrations to check up on the sneaky creature and so it was to his great relief that he saw Jorah the Andal following close at heel. He had grown to respect the milk-pale warrior and trusted him to keep a close eye out for trouble. Besides, the andal could handle Khal Rhaggat, the cart king, far better than Drogo, for he curbed Viserys with flattery which Drogo had no patience with. Were Drogo to find Viserys up to no good he would react with violence and that would not do.

He loved Daenerys too much and knew it may sadden her to damage her brother beyond repair.

Besides, for now all Drogo wanted to do was hold his khaleesi.

"Moon of my life," he whispered gruffly as he held he against him. "This day you have made me truly proud."

The smile she gave him could have lit up the night's sky.

* * *

Yet it was not to be. Drogo could not longer stay out of Viserys' business when their night of festivities and merriment in honour of his very own son was interrupted by that snake who called himself a dragon. It turned out that he had tried to steal his woman's precious dragon eggs and run away, presumably to buy himself that crown he never ceased braying about, but luckily Jorah the Andal had stopped him and brought him before the khal, looking unapologetic and angry at being manhandled by his own knight. It seemed that now it was Drogo's decision of how to act.

How unfortunate.

"Had you asked, Viserys, I would have given you the eggs without question," Daenerys exclaimed upon hearing the changes against her brother. Her dedication to his cause, misplaced though it may be, softened Drogo's heart, if only for a moment.

For then Viserys replied, shouting at his Khaleesi and openly disrespecting the mother of his child, the Moon of his Life, in front of their tribe. This he could not stand for, especially seeing the look of horror and hurt mingled with confusion on his beloved's face. His anger was woken and it blazed bright. Drogo had beaten men to death for less.

"Do you want to wake the dragon, sister?" The scrawny man who fancied himself king bellowed, red faced and spitting at Daenerys. It was when he lunged towards her, almost escaping Jorah's grasp to strike down his wife who carried his child that Drogo decided on the solution.

The only reason he had not come to blows with Khal Rhaggat before now was out of respect and affection for Daenerys herself, but this was the limit. He would give no further.

However, Drogo was a man of honour and would not contemplate going back on his word. A queen for a crown, he had promised. He knew such a deal had been more than worth while for him each night as he looked down on her face, but it did tie his hands at this moment. _Or did it?_ A thought had sprung up out of the darker recesses of his mind as he had stood watching the weak-hearted creature accost his Queen.

He had indeed promised a crown, and a crown he would give.

A slow smile crept across his face as he strode forward towards the Targaryen siblings.

"Dear brother." He spoke appeasingly, waiting for a translator to pick up his words and direct them at this man in a way he would understand. "I have been remiss, I promised a crown and a crown I shall give you on this day, a day of celebration for the child out arrangement has brought forth. Is that not only fair?"

He spoke words he knew would soothe this man's temper by pandering to his ego. Little men always needed their view of themselves to be fed, Drogo found.

Viserys' whole demeanor changed and he smiled like a child given a treat. "Well, yes, that's all I've wanted. All I have ever asked," he gushed, his eyes meeting Drogo's guilelessly. "All I want is what is rightfully mine. Thank you Drogo."

He barked swift orders to his men and they hurried off to prepare, a smirk on each of their faces. Viserys was little loved among the tribe.

His eyes had been cold and dark as he addressed his brother in law with courteous words and he could tell by her body language that his Khaleesi sensed there was menace behind his promise as he pacified her elder brother with this, the final fulfilment of his vow. The fact that she did not stop him but merely watched with one eyebrow quirked in fascination eased his mind. He took that to mean that he had the go-ahead from his beloved to act.

If she had asked him to stop, even with no more than a plea in her eyes, he would have.

But this would be so much more satisfying.

Moments later as he led Viserys, now amiable and chatting enthusiastically, to the chair he found his bloodrate surging in anticipation. Not until now had he realised just how much he wanted to get rid of the milk-pale pest. His eyes gleamed as he was handed the bucket of liquid hot gold, fit for a King.

Still Viserys was oblivious, a huge grin splitting his face as he glanced at Daenerys with a triumphant expression.

"This is all we have worked for, sweet sister."

"It is," she responded softly, watching. Waiting expectantly.

Drogo could not help glancing back at his woman, just for a moment, seeing the way her eyes widened in understanding. If she wanted to put a stop to this she had better act now. He hesitated for a beat, just long enough for her to intervene. She did not. She merely observed with curious interest.

So be it.

The screams as Viserys felt the first lick of flames and drops of fire touch his skin were piercing. Two strong men held him down as Drogo himself poured the molten metal over his face, watching intently as the metal seeped into his ears and eyes. It swiftly remoulded all in its path and the pale skin curled up and singed with acrid smoke. The smell turned his stomach as the flesh was burnt before his eyes, not the most pleasant of sights but one which he would lose no sleep over.

Once it was done and the crown had cooled over the deformed face of the still corpse, Daenerys approached him quietly and sighed.

"He was not a true dragon," she muttered, bemused. "Fire cannot kill a dragon."

He said nothing but felt the need to comfort her somehow so reached out a tentative hand and placed it protectively over her belly. Under his hand he felt a powerful beat, similar to the war drums which some tribes favoured, coming from within.

"He stirs," Drogo whispered in awe, catching his woman's eye.

She nodded. "He has been thrashing about like a dragon ever since you began the 'coronation'." When she held her chin up there was a spark in her eyes that had not been there before. "He is eager to join us, My Sun and Stars, and this scene has just quickened his need. He must be a true Targaryen, to be moved so by a scene of blood and fire."

"A true Dragon," Drogo agreed.

After that eventful interlude the festivities continued, although Drogo noted with regret that his wife's heart was no longer in it. Snake or not, Viserys had been blood of her blood and it was only because of this that he ordered a respectful, proper Dothraki burial for him the next morning. Because he loved her.

The Moon of his Life.

* * *

**_A/N~ I know that this prophesy is not actually about Rhaego in the books, I myself subscribe to the theory it is about Daenerys herself, yet in the Dothraki culture they are sexist and do not see what is right before their eyes. "Fierce as a storm this prince will be"? Sound like any one we know? Aside from 'prince' of course, as it is later pointed out this is a flaw in translation from the original Valerian where it could just as easily refer to a 'princess', so I'm pretty sure this refers to our Stormborn Khaleesi. But for the sake of the story please lets just go along with the more straightforward (although not as interesting) theory that it was actually about Rhaego._**

**_Or maybe I will still make it about Daenerys... :}_**


	4. Interlude: A Dance of Dreams

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

* * *

_**Slight Interlude:  
**__A Dance of Dreams_

* * *

_There was great pain, a stabbing pain between her legs and she was screaming. Screaming so loud she felt her lungs may burst. She thought she would die. Slick with sweat and panting fervently she cried out for her husband, but no one came. There was no one around her. A weight pressed down on her belly and she roared in agony as she felt the rippling surge through her whole body. Everywhere hurt._

_Tears poured down her cheeks she whimpered now, losing the strength to even cry out. Her fists were bunched together, the knuckles white, and she ground her teeth together when the pain spiked. And gods how it spiked._

_She felt like she was being ripped in two. Spliced open. She wished it would be all over and death would claim her soon but before she knew it all thought left her and she was in a world of agony and pushing. Always pushing._

_She wished Drogo was here to grasp her arm and will his strength into her with his blazing eyes. But he was gone and there was no time to dwell on that now. She found the energy to scream again and cried out until her lungs were hoarse._

_It was coming, she could feel it ripping her apart._

_She huffed and tried to calm herself, tried to control this situation, but it was too much. Her whole body was on fire._

_Fire cannot kill a dragon._

_She was in a world of pain, surrounded by her own screams and knowing this was the end._

No, Daenerys, this is only the beginning_, a voice told her. She took strength from that and somehow found the will to push harder._

_Blood flowed freely down her thighs and out it came, a monster._

_A dragon._

_She shook violently and gazed for a second into its huge eyes, not knowing what this could mean. Then it was gone, and with it the pain and blood and sweat, and everything faded to black. She was falling, falling through a dream and when she landed she was in a desert, surrounded by a tribe of faceless people on bended knee, hailing her as their queen._

_The prophesy, she gasped._

_For a moment the winds howled and raged, laced with shards of sand that scoured her face as she blinked to protect her eyes._

_When she opened them again she was in a large, red bricked room which she felt should have been familiar, but it was not. __There before her sat a man with hair, a matching white-gold to her own, that lay about his shoulders as the now gentle breeze combed through it, carrying the scent of incense and perfume to her nostrils. He turned to her, his eyes mirroring her own and she saw that in his arms lay a newborn child. There was something in his face which drew her, blood calling to blood, and she had to turn away for a second to shield herself from the raw emotions coursing through her veins._

She knew him, deep down in the depths of her heart his face was as familiar to her as her own. She was certain she knew who this man was and a shiver coursed through her body at the revelation.

_"Aegon, my son," he whispered with awe as he stroked the boy's face with a long, slender finger. "The Prince that was promised."_

_Her heart tightened as her suspicions were confirmed, this man holding the boy was indeed her late brother Rhaegar. The tender scene before her was bitter-sweet, bile on her tongue, as she knew the truth of that infant's tragic fate. Daenerys shuddered. Slowly, she walked over as the man started to play the harp, a smile on his face as he strummed the sweet, familiar lullaby. She was shocked to see the child's face for he appeared to have Drogo's colouring and fierce eyebrows as well as her platinum hair and violet eyes._

_"Rhaego!" she gasped placing a hand protectively over her stomach.  
_

_The man turned to her once more, his face serene as he held her gaze. "The Prince that was promised," he repeated, never ceasing his lilting melody._

_Then the man before her morphed seamlessly into her own husband, wielding an arakh in place of the harp which sung with a song all its own as it cut through the very air itself. They were now in a wide open field and she stood by a small wooden cot as she watched Drogo swing the blade with practised ease, before laying down the weapon to hover over the crib, his eyes brimming with pride._

_"The Stallion who Mounts the World," he whispered as he reached down to touch the infant, stroking its face with a rough, leathery finger in an uncanny repeat of the man she had watched before. The sight made her blood run cold and she turned to flee, not able to face what her brain was telling her._

_Suddenly this reality was shattered, broken into a thousand fragments of glass, as fragile as the promises that prophesies rode on, and she flinched as it was replaced with an old witch who cackled with glee._

_Images flashed before her eyes and she tried to shy away but could not escape the pieces of the puzzle as they tumbled into her mind._

_An infant smashed against a wall as his brains dripped down to the floor and his cries were silenced; the tears of dragons as the city outside was burned to the ground; the wails of women and children beaten and raped in the streets. A promise broken. Words scattered to the far corners of the earth never to be fulfilled, mocking the willingness of mortals to desperately cling onto what was whispered in the whim of one moment of fate._

The prince that was promised.

A baby's brains sluiced from the wall carelessly. A newborn's cries as it was born in a room of blood and winter roses. The first disposed of with ease, the second alone and helpless, scattered to the whims of fate like the prophesies before it.

_The laughter of the witch echoed around her and she tried to cover her ears but nothing could protect from the haunting sounds of death as it surrounded her, engulfed her in its sorrow. The witch's eyes were shining with madness as she danced around a fire, throwing in small figures and watching them turn to ash. Fire cannot kill a dragon. In they were tossed, curling up in acrid smoke as they were disposed of with such callous ease. Daenerys recognised the figures and reeled back in horror. The smoke choked her, burning her lungs and bringing tears to her eyes, yet the witch seemed unaffected._

_An infant's hearty wails pierced the cackles as, from the smoke surrounding her, images formed of a dragon mating with a wolf in a frenzy of passion, an age old song of ice and fire, soon giving way to an age old tragedy of loss._

_"Aegon," whispered the voice from before, "The Prince who was promised."_

_"No!" she tried to call, but the wind whipped away her cries as she watched yet again as the child was bludgeoned to death, all the while the sounds of passion coming from the dragon and the wolf drowning out the sounds of the baby as its little fire was extinguished forever, a new babe created to take its place in the game of fates._

_Just as she began to calm herself, Daenerys saw the images formed with the witch's smoke blur and when they became clear once more the sight shook her to her very core. For instead of the dragon mating with the wolf, she saw a dragon riding a stallion and the words of her own child's prophesy may as well have took to flames before her._

_"Aegon, my son." The words caressed her as she watched the dragon and stallion in horror, "the Prince who was promised."_

_"The prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world." A dragon with three heads growled as it blew reams of flame towards the image of the stallion, igniting the smoke and surrounding her with a wall of fire that licked at her skin._

_Until all that she was left with was a pile of ashes and smoke and traces of salt on her cheeks where the fire had evaporated her tears._

* * *

Daenerys woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air to quell the feeling of burning in her lungs.

_It was just a dream,_ she told herself firmly, _nothing more._

Yet she could not help the chill that ran down her spine as she pictured the face of the cackling witch or her brother and his child.

"Rhaego," she whispered, clutching at her belly protectively. What if he was destined to be a victim of fate, just like her nephew Aegon? People had heralded him as a child of prophesy, too, yet his was a short life. She did not understand all of her dream, such as the babe born of blood and roses, but from what she knew of the story of Rhaegar she wondered what it was exactly that this dream was trying to tell her.

She shook herself mentally. It was likely just her overactive imagination which had been jarred by the death of her brother. Maybe she was just processing some fears that with him gone she would never retake the Iron Throne and her whole line would be snuffed out of history. Maybe it was telling her that Rhaego was the fabled prince that was promised in place of Aegon. Maybe it was warning her to beware of witches. Maybe...maybe...

Or maybe it was a warning? What if it was her love of Drogo which killed him, in the same way her brother's obsession with the Stark girl became a death sentence for his own young family? What if she ever had to make the choice: her unborn child or the love of her life? Her heart contracted painfully and she calmed herself with steady breathing as she looked across at Drogo's sleeping form, illuminated softly by the light of the moon. He was handsome and fierce, caring and passionate, a lover and a warrior; he was her Sun and Stars.

She loved him.

If it did come down to it, how could she ever choose between him and the unborn child she carried?

_You are a Targaryen_, the voice inside her spoke with authority, _your son is a Targaryen. Nothing else matters._

She was about to disagree, but could not find the words. It was late and she needed more sleep to face the day ahead, she could always think on this if it ever became an issue. Which it wouldn't, she told herself fiercely.

She drew the animal skin over her shoulder and lay snuggled down under the crook of Drogo's arm, breathing in the scent of him and smiling drowsily.

All she knew was that this time the voice was wrong.

Drogo _did_ matter.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks for bearing with me for this chapter, I just wanted to insert a dream as a way to diverge from canon. It will be this dream that provides the fork in the road and essentially allows Daenerys to make an informed (ish) decision when given the chance to use black magic to save Khal Drogo.  
Sorry this is a short chapter, I just wanted to explore the whole dreams aspect of A Song of Ice and Fire and hope this worked.  
(This scene does not mean there will be no House of the Undying scene, it has a lot of similarities but there will be another scene for the house of the undying in later chapters.)

Many thanks to those who read this, you guys make my day!


	5. Vod Chafaan Part I

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

Right, after a trippy dream break we can continue with the action (:  
Sorry I took a while updating, I began work on my LyannaxRhaegar story and neglected this one a little...

* * *

_**Chapter three:  
**__Vod Chafaan - "Dust to the Wind" (R.I.P.) _Part I

* * *

Daenerys walked down the Lhazareen streets, fighting to keep her poise in the face of the angry, accusing eyes of the children and women who watched her every move.

An assassin had come after Daenerys, sent by the usurper himself and Drogo had been furious. Until then he had not taken her desire to return to Westeros seriously, but knowing how close he came to losing both her and her unborn child he had killed the would be assassins in a fury and vowed that would not rest until he had sailed the poison water himself and destroyed the coward who would send killers after a woman and child. _His_ woman and child.

Never had she felt so grateful for an attempt on her life.

He had then, fighting to raise finance for her cause, begun to raid and reave through the villages in order to raise funds for such a cause. He had been victorious so far and this day had crushed Khal Ogo and his Khalasar into dust beneath their feet, leaving this latest city of Lhazar defenseless and providing them with a whole array of slaves to trade to fund their war. Her heart should have been surging with pride and elation at such a sight, seeing the faces of all these people they had conquered as invaluable assets to help her regain her throne, yet under the gaze of those cold, sullen expressions she felt caught.

If this was the taste of glory, the promised elixir which conquering nations thrived on, it held an after taste which was stale and dry on her tongue.

Seeing her men loot the houses of these "lamb men", as they were referred to among the Dothraki, while the owners tried in vain to resist against such powerful warriors caused her chest to tighten in sympathy. This was not how she had envisioned reclaiming her rightful throne. While she had always known war and politics were far from pleasant, the exploitation of innocents to further her own ends just would not sit well with her. This was not a glorious battle against a well matched enemy, as their fight against the opposing khalasar had been, this was preying on the vulnerable and Daenerys had been vulnerable and preyed upon enough in her short life to hate the sight of it.

Interrupting her thoughts, the cries and whimpers of women reached her ears and she paled, eyes darting around to find the source. All of her instincts screamed at her to intervene as she saw the repeated scenes of gang rape in the pens to either side of the road. Young girls and old women, none were exempt. Was this the Dothraki way? Was this what she had unleashed upon these people? Was this the price of her crown?

Too high, she clenched a fist.

But necessary, she told herself sternly. Her hollow words could not drown out their pitiful cries, though. Nothing would, they clawed their way into her mind and she could not hear aught else.

_"I would let his whole tribe fuck you, all forty thousand men and their horses too, if that's what it took to regain my crown little sister."_

Her mind taunted her with the words of her brother and a wave of rage welled up inside her.

_No! I shall not tolerate such behaviour._ _I am not Viserys._ The fire inside her lashed out, her eyes blazing with fury as she rushed up to the scene closest to her and held up a hand imperiously. Her heart hammered loudly inside her chest as she faced down a member of her khalasar, uncertain what she would do if they resist her orders but determined to do _something_.

"Stop, these women are not for you." She spoke calmly, with a tone of ice while her soul burned with conviction.

Realising it was them who their Khaleesi was addressing, the group of Dothraki men stopped what they were doing and glared at the intrusion. They made no attempt to mask their outrage at her words, shocked beyond measure that this woman did not know her place. What was Khal Drogo thinking allowing his white haired whore to question their ways in this manner?!

"This is man's war, man must take prize. It is known. Khaleesi stays out of this matter," one of the men growled, his eyebrows knit together as he weighed up the tiny female before him. He was slightly surprised to find that, instead of cowering before him like he had expected from such a frail thing, she lifted her chin higher and met his gaze with eyes which spoke of a power and authority that had him bowing his head to her in awe, without even intending to.

"I claim these women as slaves, they belong to me." Her voice was as sharp as Valyrian steel. "You shall not touch them."

Hoping to find some sanity in their proud leader where his woman was obviously lacking, the angry riders at once stalked to where he was sitting several feet away, watching his men drink, loot and take women with a proud gleam in his eyes.

"Great Khal," one of them addressed him and he nodded his head to allow them to speak further. "Your vile bitch, she...I...We..." So agitated over being deprived of their rights by a woman were they, that they found it difficult to put into words just what had happened.

Khal Drogo frowned at their insult to his woman, standing up with fury in his eyes. "You think to insult my khaleesi?" he demanded.

"She forbade us our rightful celebrations!" they spluttered as one.

Growling khal stepped forward, pinning each of them with a glare. "You better not be making this up. No one insults my queen and keeps his head. Take me to her, we shall see what all your bitching is about."

Impatiently he bade them head towards his wife with a curt gesture and they obliged, scowling deeply. Drogo was annoyed at the intrusion but had to see it through with addressing these complains as it was a serious thing indeed to withhold a man's spoils of war. Such was not the Dothraki way. All fight in battle, all see the spoils afterwards. It is known. He just hoped to get to the bottom of this issue soon so he could return to the celebrations, hopefully alongside his khaleesi. He desired her now, after being blooded, more than ever.

She heard him coming and turned with blazing eyes. This did not bode well.

"I have claimed these women." She waved a hand to indicate the sorry bunch of wretches who had clearly been well used already judging by the bruises on their pale skin and the redness around their eyes. Nevertheless, if his woman wanted a few women for her own, she could have them. There were plenty to go around.

"Fine," he nodded, granting her the request. Although he smiled inside to recall that she had made no request, merely a statement. She grew more bold with each passing day, by the Great Stallion he just wished she had not chosen today to do so. He could handle this though. She had her collection of unappealing women and that was that. He looked to the disgruntled warriors and flicked his chin in the direction of the rest of the village. "Find other women, there are plenty."

They gazed sullenly at him, probably irked that he took a woman's side over their own, but he was khal and his word was the final say. They were about to turn on their heels and leave when Daenerys rose her voice once more.

"No, my khal, you misunderstand me. I claim all the women here today. None shall be taken forcibly."

The shock of her words caused him to turn back forwards her with a startled expression. Her cheeks were flushed in a very beautiful manner and her eyes sparkled with authority, he was momentarily taken aback.

"No, woman," he growled dangerously quiet, "_you_ misunderstand _me_. This is _my_ khalasar who have won this victory for _your_ cause. They fight for us, we allow them their prize. These women." He indicated them with a wave of his hand, "are theirs to claim. It is known. I can make allowances for you, but this is not one of them."

Her eyes flashed and she stood her ground where most men would falter, under his gaze. How he loved her spirit.

"If they want women I shall give them coin to buy whores." She openly defied him before his men. How he wanted to take her himself, right now, how he needed to be inside her and fuck that self assured glare off her face. He grunted.

"You want us to make war, we make war. _This_ is war."

"No, _this_ is preying on the weak. Fighting Ogo's khalasar was war, a battle worthy of the proud and strong khal that my husband is." She flushed with pride as she regarded him, her jaw set and his desire for her rising. "These women offer up no worthy defense, these lamb men are beneath contempt. Take their gold but do not prey on them like this, it is beneath you, my khal."

He was silent for a moment, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. She had a point and if it were just him he would happily agree, but he could not deny the pleasures of a woman to his men. He could not undo the proud traditions of the Dothraki, not even for her.

While he himself had only engaged in the traditions of raping the conquered women before his marriage and did not feel the need nor desire to do so now that he had his Khaleesi, he knew how important such rights were for keeping his men satisfied. Not all were lucky enough to have a woman to warm their tent, especially one so enthusiastic and skilled, not to mention beautiful. He had all he could ever want to keep him satisfied, yet that was not the case for many of them. To challenge their ability to take the women upon a victory would be lethal to the Khalasar's morale. All men needed the flesh of a woman after the heat of battle, it is known.

His Khaleesi would just have to learn that they did not command a tribe of monks.

He was about to dismiss Daenerys with a wave and a swift order for the festivities to continue. He would generously allow her to keep the women she had already claimed as a gesture of his love for her, maybe explain to her that this was just the Dothraki way, as unchangeable as the sun rising in the East, when something stopped him. It was as he looked down into his young wife's large, beautiful eyes and saw again the righteous anger and deep compassion for these conquered wretches that he could not help but feel a strong surge of admiration that she would fight for those she did not even know in this way.

She gazed up at him, her violet eyes shimmering with vehemence, and he could not resist the earnest plea he saw there, deep down.

If this was what the Moon of his Life truly asked of him, he would not refuse.

"My Khaleesi speaks true," he declared, much to the surprise and horror of his men. "Do not touch these lamb women. Pay for whores if you have a need." With that he tossed a coin of silver, worth a few whores, in their direction and stalked off to oversee the counting of livestock.

"She had bewitched you, Drogo," one of them shouted angrily. He spat on the silver coin in the dust and drew out his arakh. "Broken you like a steed. You are useless and weak and I challenge you for it."

Drogo laughed. This man was a youth with hair no longer than his shoulder blades and he dared to challenge him? Very well.

"Very well, boy." With that they started a dance of swords, testing each other with tentative swipes at first before Drogo bore down on the lad in full. He could feel Daenerys' eyes on him, fear mingled with pride in her gaze. He took a moment to offer her up a smile and the boy took this opportunity to strike, slicing Drogo's nipple clean off his chest and sending a warm stinging across his torso.

"Only women need teats." He roared with laughter and the continued their fight, the boy growing tired easily as Drogo began fighting for real.

All he could see in his mind's eye was the look of pure love in his wife's eyes as he fought for her, as he backed up her wishes before his men. Did she not know that he would change the laws of gravity for her, if only she asked?

He sprinkled the dust with the youth's blood soon after, never seeing his opponent as he cut him down, only seeing her eyes.

Her beautiful, exotic, violet eyes.

His men cheered but it did not slip his noticed that they also eyed his wife warily. Well, not they knew what would happen to those who spoke out against her, at least.

* * *

Daenerys had watched in shock as one of Drogo's own men called him incompetent, or rather, used a not so polite Dothraki term. The fool repeatedly shouted claims that her husband was not fit to rule since he was showing weakness in letting his whore hold too much influence. She seethed on both of their behalf's and felt a dark thrill as she watched Drogo begin to water the ground with his blood.

As they danced with their blades, hair flying and eyes cold, she felt torn. Part of her longed to scream, yet a large bubble in her throat choked down any sound she tried to make. Part of her longed to flee as she could not watch her Sun and Stars get injured, yet her limbs would not obey her. Part of her longed to fight alongside her husband and show this man who he was calling a whore, yet she knew it would weaken Drogo in the eyes of his men. Part of her longed to cry out his name, sure of his victory and proud of his proficiency in battle. Yes no sound passed her lips. She was rooted to the spot, eyes captivated by the poised, skillful way her husband flirted with death at the point of an arakh.

Without knowing it she was holding her breath.

She exhaled and, as the fight progressed felt herself relaxing slightly seeing first hand her husband's skill. That was, until something else caught her eye, something which almost made her heart stop and her blood run dry.

Among the group of women she had claimed as her own early was one whom Daenerys recognised. She had never met her in life, no, but she had seen her face before, she remembered with a chill grasping her chest in its icy grip. The woman stood there before her in the flesh, watched the fight with a small smirk playing about her cracked lips, her eyes dark and sharp as they followed the movements of the fighters. Daenerys blinked and told herself to stop being foolish, that she was mistaken. Yet it was no mistake, this woman was the one from her dream.

The cackling witch.

Daenerys closed her eyes and groaned slightly as figures of people she loves crumbled to ash before her and this woman laughed and laughed and laughed.

Nausea clutched at her stomach but she forced herself to open her eyes and watch the battle before her, to stand tall and proud for her husband who fought so gallantly for her. She opened her eyes and gave a weak smile which looked more like a grimace to see her husband dominating the fight so masterfully. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of a cold smile crossing the witch's lips and she felt a scream bubble up inside her but clamped down on it, fixing her gaze and attention ahead, on her khal.

At that moment Drogo turned to smile at her, stopping his fight for a heartbeat to meet her eyes with an audacious grin. She always found his brash manner attractive and his cocky smile dissolved the fear which had nestled in the pit of her stomach. She forgot all about the witch for a moment and gazed across at him with open adoration. In that instant only they mattered. She allowed herself a small smile.

Then she gasped and the taste of ashes was thick on her tongue as she cried out.

The youth fighting against him had taken this moment, this one time when Drogo let his guard slip slightly, to strike him, carving off his nipple along with a horrific chunk of flesh. Daenerys cried out before she could stop herself, watching the blood course down his chest, thick and unrelenting, but her husband merely made a quip of it, claiming only women had need of teats to the amused laughter of his men.

Typical Drogo.

Yet she was not so flippant about such things. He may not know fear but in that moment she felt enough for both of them. Her head spun and she saw the blood bathing him, smelt it, could feel it burning her from the inside as it tried to consume her. She could taste it, its tang the same as the metallic flavour of the stallion's raw heart. Bile rose and she struggled to fight it down. She felt Rhaego quicken inside of her, as if screaming and trying to pound his way out, frantic with fear and impotent rage.

She could feel blood licking at her like flames, singeing her skin. Crawling over her, itching like fire ants. The witch turned her malicious smile knowingly at her and Daenerys' stomach churned, making her feel nauseous. Her skin was hot, too hot, and the blood flowed freely. She wanted to scream.

It was at this moment that she saw the battle was over and Drogo had won. She felt suddenly light and dizzy with relief, the heat and blood gone in an instant. Of course he had won, he was her Sun and Stars and his braid had never been cut. Who could challenge him and not be trod into the dirt? Silly girl to have been so scared by a woman seen in a dream and a wound which would heal. Yet the taste of ashes and blood still lingered and she could not shake the dread which coiled in her stomach as her eyes drew back time and again to the woman and her smile. Her twisted, sinister smile.

As Drogo turned back to her an expression lit up his eyes and caused a warmth to washed over her and quicken her bloodbeat. Yet her eyes did not linger on his face for long, drew with dread to the large gash across his chest.

She rushed into his arms, closing the distance between them with a cry and in the space of a heartbeat he was holding her close, breathing in the scent of her hair and fixing a dark glare over her head to any and all who may chose to defy him or speak against his woman.

"Does anyone else want to feel the bite of my arakh?" he growled fiercely. "Does anyone else have a problem with the words of my khaleesi?" None came forward.

He had once more won their respect with his fearsome skill at battle. His was a people who needed a show of strength to feel secure in their leader and he had given it to them as he had many times before. Theirs was the fabled Drogo of uncut hair and men followed him in their droves for his reputation and skill. He felt pride in today's victory, but more importantly he had once more won his Khaleesi's heart and for that he would give up his whole Khalasar if he needed to.

To give her up was unimaginable.

"You are wounded," she breathed against his chest disjointedly, as if she was struggling to speak out such words.

"A scratch, Moon of my Life." He dismissed her concerns and absently stroked her hair, finding relief in running his fingers through the strands of silk as the throbs of pain became stronger, branching out across his whole chest, now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off.

_A sign I fought for you,_ he thought with pride, _I shall wear it and remember this day when I honoured my Khaleesi_.

But Daenerys was not convinced by his hollow words, knowing they came from a place of stubborn pride. She grew more and more worried as Drogo began leaning more of his weight on her than he ever usually would, as she noted that his breathing grew more laboured and as she felt the warm trickle of fresh blood seeping down his chest between them.

She began to half lead, half carry him back to their tent which immediately brought a smirk to his face, obviously believing her to have motives of the flesh. She could have laughed at his priorities, so typical of her husband, were she not so distressed at his condition. It was painfully slow progress, marching him to their tent several feet and directing him through the entrance flap where he nearly doubled over with pain but she managed to get him laid out on a bunch of animal skins before calling Irri, Jhiqui and Doreah to assist her.

The fact that he barely fought back against her fussing over him, as she stripped his clothes with care and whispered her love into his ears, was truly a bad sign. She blinked away the tears that threatened to fall and used a clean linen cloth to wipe at the blood around his wound with trembling hands.

_Maybe among the conquered is a healer_, she thought as she examined his wound and saw that it was festering. She pungent smell made her recoil slightly until she forced herself to push past her disgust. In this moment she could not afford be a useless princess, Drogo needed her to become a competent, fearless khaleesi. Looking at the angry gash she knew with certainty that this was far beyond the simple skills of herself or her maids to heal. She desperately needed help. She ordered Irri and Jhiqui to ask around among the people of Lhazar for a skilled healer, arming them with promises that they and their family would be under her protection from the Dothraki if they would just assist her with her husband.

Right now she would offer them her rightful crown of Westeros itself to save her sun and stars.

Minutes later, panting and red in the face, they tore back into the tent with the woman from earlier, the one from her dream.

"We have found the healer of these people, khaleesi. This woman by the name of Mirri Maz Duur," they announced breathlessly.

Hope rose within her and she turned to greet them. However, seeing who they had brought she froze, terror gripping her momentarily as a fresh onslaught of images from that restless night weeks ago once more bombarded her. The one woman she feared, this wretch who made her skin crawl and her head pound, _this_ was the only healer they could offer?

The maids and the woman hovered at the entrance to the tent uncertainly and Daenery realised that she was staring with mouth agape. Shaking herself out of her stupour she told herself that there was no time to be wasted, so she would just have to push her fears to one side for now and see what this woman could do. Surely she could not banish her husband's best chance at survival on the basis of a nightmare.

While she would be wary around her at all times, she would not prevent her from rendering assistance, although at the first sign of trouble she would burn this Lhazar creature to death with no hesitation, she told herself. Such was the panic and confusion rushing through her mind that she would order an execution based on a dream.

Because when it came to the safety of her husband and son she would take no chances.

Rhaego kicked violently as she finally invited the woman to step forward and examine the wound, and she could have sworn that she heard a strange thrumming noise coming from the three dragon eggs in the corner of the room. She frowned, now was not the time to start losing her composure. Drogo needed her at her best, not lost in her own imagination, mind sick with fear and paranoia.

"It is badly infected," the woman pronounced, her hair wild and her yellowed teeth shining in the flickering light of the candles. "I shall need to apply a poultice."

At this moment Qotho, one of Drogo's trusted trio of blood riders, entered the tent in a rage. He glanced around the room and, seeing Daenerys and the woman kneeling side by side at Drogo's side, flashed her an accusing glare.

"I saw this _maegi_ led in here and demand you keep her away from Khal Drogo, she is not fit to kiss his feet!" he snarled, pointing at the woman who met his anger with a calm gaze, continuing her probing of the wound unperturbed.

Daenerys, however, was not unmoved by his words and felt a shiver run up her spine upon hearing the woman referred to as a _maegi;_ a practitioner of blood magic. It fit in too well with her role in the dream.

She almost sided with Qotho, coming so close to throwing her out of the tent and out of her sight, yet she could not help but wonder if taking such an actions would be the cause for the witch to curse her family. Would angering this lowly witch by the very thing which brought about the loss which she so dreaded, that of her husband and unborn child?

Was it truly shunning this woman that was the foolish mistake her dream warned against? Or was trusting her?

He head reeled with indecision, faced with Qotho's angry eyes and Drogo's prone body.

She decided to do neither.

"If she can heal him, let her." Daenerys spoke calmly, despite the deafening sound of blood pounding in her ears.

"You're making a mistake!" Qotho growled angrily.

Maybe he was right, she thought as she watched him storm out of her tent, maybe either way was a mistake. Maybe this was not a fate to be escaped. She placed a hand protectively over her stomach and watched with careful eyes as the _maegi_ set to work.

Gods be good, her fears would be for nothing.


	6. Vod Chafaan Part II

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

_Sorry I've been offline for so long, I would just like to say thank you so much for those who have continued to read and review. It is for you that I have come to update this piece, because before I saw those review I was engrossed in some original work on Fictionpress and couldn't find the inspiration for this story, you have given me the motivation to find inspiration so I hope you like this.  
Because this is for you: Weylandcorp 4, KD, OcarinaSapphire24, Ali Nowac, Nightshade07, Lilnidger82, Pixie108, TheBlueDragonWolf, Cray Queen of Angst and A Song of Fire and Ice. As well as "Guest", whoever you are :D and anyone else who had read this in the last few years. Thank you._

* * *

_**Chapter Four:  
**__Vod Chafaan - "Dust to the Wind" (R.I.P.) _Part two

* * *

Daenerys entered the tent a while later to be greeted by the putrid smell of charred flesh. However, while her first instinct was to grimace as her senses recoiled in horror, the moment she saw Drogo's face as he attempted to sit up in his bed of mats and cloaks she could not stop the huge smile from spreading across her face, believing him to be, at that moment, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. The unguents that were now heavily applied to his wound gave out a herbal scent which caught at the back of her throat as she fell to her knees before him. Tears blurred her eyes as she drank in the sight of his face, pale and drawn, and his eyes; those fierce, dark, passionate windows into his beautiful soul.

"My sun and stars, you rise for me once more?" she choked out the words, her relief pouring out from every pore in her body.

How could she ever have believed he could die, this beast of a man who would challenge even death itself and not stop until he had claimed his victory? This conqueror, whose braids had never been cut in testament to the fact he could not be defeated, least of all by a mere flesh wound. How could she have been so foolish as to allow herself to fear for her proud and mighty warrior king?

"Always, moon of my life," he rasped.

She chose not to see how he winced in pain as the movement of speech jarred him. He reached out, his face paling slightly at the effort, and gently stroked her face, brushing away a tear she hadn't felt escape.

"No," he said quietly, oh so quietly, as the leathery pad of his large thumb caressed her face, just as it had done all those moons ago during their wedding night.

A sob threatened to overwhelm her but she fiercely pushed it down, refusing to show weakness in front of her khal.

"We ride now," he said softly as his eyes lit with fever and his teeth flashed in that reckless, feral grin which she loved so much. The same grin her would often use on her when he wanted her body, the same grin he would use before thrashing off into the dessert on a new campaign, the grin which turned her knees to jelly as it excited her heart and melted it all at once.

"He needs rest," the _maegi_ woman interrupted from the corner of the tent where she prepared more of her pastes and unguents.

"No," Drogo spat angrily at the woman. "We ride."

She just shrugged, her small calculating eyes appraising him. She said no more but her very presence still managed to send a chill up Daenerys' spine.

Qotho entered the tent, having heard Drogo's voice, and for a while she was forgotten in their preparations for travel. Drogo looked gaunt, worn to his very limit, yet he sat tall and proud, allowing her to glimpse the unbeatable spirit within him and its firm resilience. It was truly remarkable.

As Qotho left, with a backwards glare of distaste for her and for the _maegi_, Drogo allowed the raise of his shoulders to slump slightly and took her tiny hand in his. It was not the Dothraki custom to hold hands, but she had attempted it with him from time to time and occasionally he would oblige. This would usually be after a particularly tender love making, as they lay side by side in the quiet of their tent with their hearts beating faster and the sweat drying on their skin, wrapped up in the rapture of their blissfully contented daze. He had never initiated such a display, until now, and she found herself clinging tightly to his rough hand as if anchoring him in this life.

"Rest for a moment, my sun and stars," she brushed her lips over his forehead as tenderly as if he were a child as he lay himself heavily back down on his mat. "For soon we ride once more in your glorious victory."

* * *

Daenerys knelt by her husbands side, grasping his hand in her own and watching each rise and fall of his chest as if willing strength back into him. She refused to leave her place, despite her servants begging her to have a rest, and sent away all food and drink as she could not stomach them while Drogo lay there so weak.

An hour or so later Qotho returned, having made the arrangements for the whole of the Khalasar to move out. All that remained was for Drogo to mount his stallion and they would be set to get underway. It was times like this that Daenerys was truly grateful for Qotho's loyalty to her husband and for his diligence in his duty, in the way he served Drogo she knew she could not ask for a better right hand man. She just wished he would not continue to refused to accept her. While she knew this could not be changed for now, she was determined she would win him over in time.

She roused Drogo gently and he sat up, with huge effort.

"Are you ready, my khal?" Qotho asked, his voice rough but his eyes kind as they appraised his friend.

"Of course," Drogo snapped, resenting the looks he was receiving from his woman and now his friend.

With difficulty he pushed himself to stand, the movement causing fresh blood and pus to leak through the heavily applied paste. Drogo showed no sign of noticing this, though, staring stoically at the tent flaps before him as he made his way, step by painful step, towards them. He could hear his trusty stallion waiting for him just beyond it and forced his body to respond to his will, striding as powerfully as he could manage and making sure to hold his chin up high.

Daenerys longed to help him, seeing through the sweat pouring off his back and the clench of his muscles the effort it took him even just to walk. Yet she would never disrespect him so, no matter how her heart broke for him.

Qotho gave a curt nod, seeing Drogo walking upright and open the tent flaps for himself. He looked sickly, it was true, but he held himself tall and proud, like a warrior, and this was all that mattered. He would heal, he always did.

* * *

The heat beat down on the Dothraki khalasar as they rode away from Lazareen.

Daenerys longed to fan herself, but knew such an indulgence would be seen as a sign of weakness. That was not the way of the Dothraki, especially not their queen, and so she rode on, sweat trickling in rivulets down her spine, on her brow and down her sides. The land seemed to stretch out endlessly before them, showing no signs of letting up from the harsh desert conditions. No lakes, no springs. Not that, after all this time, she expected such things.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Khal Drogo sway in his seat slightly, something he never did.

She turned to face him and almost cried out loud to see his face, which was usually so focused yet was now struggling to keep upright, with eyes so dazed she wondered if he could see his horse's mane before him. His head lolled to the side and she threw out an arm in a futile attempt to stop him falling, beyond caring how it would look to the other Dothraki, but she was well out of range and before her very eyes he keeled over in his saddle, falling as if in slow motion to the dust at his horse's feet.

He landed with a dull thud and blood rushed in her ears as she felt herself crying out. She willed him to get up, her mind screaming for him to just move a little bit, yet he just lay there. Seconds passed which felt like an eternity, and still he did not stir. She was vaguely aware of the other riders who had stopped their horses to watch as she bolted off hers and ran to his side, begging him to rise in a way which, no doubt, was unseemly for a khaleesi.

She was beyond caring.

After what could have been minutes or a millennia, Qotho stooped down, pried her hands away from him and deftly lifted her husband into his arms like a sack of vegetables. She got to her feet, her legs feeling clumsy as if they refused to fully acknowledge her commands, and followed with awkward movements as his best friend carried the body of her husband to a tent which had been constructed speedily by his men.

She was vaguely aware of the heads that bobbed in a symbol of respect to the khal as they passed.

"Vod chafaan," they whispered, the words being snatched by the slight breeze. She did not recognise the meaning of this saying, but the sentiment was clear. They were honouring his passing, and hearing this bile rose in her throat.

_Don't you dare honour his death_, she wanted to scream at them wildly, _he can't be killed!_

Instead she just walked silently behind Qotho, powerless to stop their mourning words any more than she could stop Drogo's decline. _A Queen should not be powerless,_ she fumed as anger at the situation boiled over. There must be a way. She must make a way.

As Qotho lay Drogo tenderly on the mats, he kissed his forehead in the most tender display she had ever seen the imposing warrior make and mumbled the same words; "vod chafaan, brother."

He then closed Drogo's flickering eyes with a gentle movement of his fingertips and gave Drogo a heartfelt warrior's salute which moved her, before leaving her alone in the tent with him.

"Drogo, my sun and stars," she ran her hands over his arm and felt the tears flow freely now, where no one could see them and pass judgement. "Please come back, don't leave me."

He stirred slightly and with effort he opened his unfocused, glazed over eyes to look upon her with a heartrendingly tender expression. "Moon of my life, do not fret. My son comes for you, he will be your strength."

"He needs _you_," she pleaded, shaking with the effort not to sob like a common wife. Queens may shed a tear but they never wailed.

An answering kick arose in her belly and she gasped.

"Drogo, it's our son, he moves for you," she laughed through tear blurred eyes and placed his hand gently onto her belly. There was another kick, this time more fierce, followed by another.

Drogo laughed, coughing weakly afterwards and smiling up at her with the most loving expression she had ever seen on his face. "The stallion that mounts the world," he rasped, tears forming in his own eyes, "my son."

She squeezed his hand and nodded, fighting hard to keep her composure as she looked into his eyes.

"Our son," he corrected himself softly after a moment as his eyelids fluttered shut once more. His facial muscles relaxed as an expression of peace fell across them.

_She was losing him_, she panicked. Then an idea came clearly in her mind, the _maegi_, she could use blood magic. Everyone knew blood magic could work miracles, at a cost. And whatever the cost was, she would pay it.

Her son kicked frantically once more, as if in distress, but she shook her head and ignored him. Ignored the feeling of ice in her stomach at the thought of the _maegi's_ magic.

_Whatever the cost..._

"My sun and stars," she shook him gently until his eyelids opened slightly, "the _maegi_, she could save you. I am willing to use blood magic, I can't lose you."

Under her hand Drogo shuddered and the baby inside her jerked about in turmoil at her words.

He then opened his eyes fully, pain flitting across his face in place of the peace that had settled there moments before.

"No," he said simply. It was not an order, she knew as his eyes connected with hers, it was a plea. She relaxed her grip on his hand, not having realised just how tight she was holding him until she let go and saw the red imprint marks her fingers had made.

_"No,"_ another voice, one which was unfamiliar yet alluring, also pleaded with her and she shuddered as her mind began to play over images of the dream she had all that time ago. All the while a soft crooning echoed in her mind as if willing her not to make the wrong choice, since she knew now with certainty what the 'wrong choice' was, and while it would kill her to live without her khal she almost dreaded the alternative more.

She was convinced.

"No," she agreed, giving him up with a final breath she did not know she had been holding. The frantic kicking in her womb ceased upon hearing her.

He smiled slightly and nodded, before allowing his head to loll back, all expression leaving his face as he exhaled for the last time.

This time she could not prevent the sobs that racked her small body as she threw herself over him and wept. She wept with rage for her loss, for her baby's loss and for the uncertainty of their future now without him to protect them. When, after a while, she was finally spent and felt hollow inside, she picked herself up and kissed him tenderly on his cold, stiff lips one last time.

"I love you, my sun and stars," she whispered into his ear before she picked herself up and brushed the dirt from the hem and knees of her dress. "Vod chafaan."

She scrubbed the traces of tears from her face roughly and left the tent.

"He is gone," she managed to address the gathered dothraki without her voice trembling.

They bobbed their heads in respect and went about preparations for his body while she stood there, numb in the centre of their bustle. Before long she wandered to her horse and found herself stroking the three dragon eggs, as if for comfort. They hummed, a reverberation which thrummed through her entire body and she sighed.

* * *

_"You are safe, our brother," the soothing chorus of voices reassured the unborn Rhaego, who sent back waves of appreciation. "We sent our mother the dream and she knew what not to do."_

_"Yet she still suggested it," Rhaego mused, puzzled._

_"Because love is irrational," they explained. "Which is why we also spoke to the father, our glorious deceased."_

_I guess that makes sense, Rhaego nodded, so it was really my father and my brothers who saved me. I am glad I felt his touch, he was wise and brave, all that I hope to become. As well as powerful, which I already know I am._

_"I grow impatient to meet you, dear brothers," he stirred in the womb restlessly, sick of his confines._

_"There is not long to wait now, dear one," they sent back, along with excited feelings of their imminent awakening._

_He threw back his own feelings of anticipation and smiled. "The world will make a fun playground for us, I am sure."_

_"Yes," they chuckled heartily. "It will be ours for the taking, little one."_

_'The stallion who mounts the world'; this is what they named me even before my birth. I can sense the greatness flowing through my veins. Yet, the people of my father lack understanding of all I will be for they ride only puny stallions, yet I shall ride dragons. I can feel the dragon blood running through my soul, and it is in this way I shall mount the world. Not a stallion, but a Targaryen in truth. We shall reshape this world in our image, with fire and blood. Make it better. Make it sing, like we do to each other._

_Dragons have been dead for too long, the time has finally come to revive their supremacy once more. They were never meant to be relegated to be beasts of legend, they were born to rule the three realms of land, sea and sky. Together that is what we shall do, my brothers and I._

_His mind tingled as he felt the same thoughts echoed from his brothers._

_"Soon, so soon," they sang in their captivating melody, and he eagerly joined in_.


	7. Born of Blood and Fire

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

_Okay. At last. This is the 'true' beginning of this story (and its only taken me a few years to get to this point, get in) so prepare yourselves for the birth of the dragons and little Rhaegar. Let the tale of Rhaegar: Brother to Dragons finally begin!  
Again, thank you to all who have read and reviewed this piece. Yesterday, when I put up what I admit was a badly written (but now reviewed and edited) chapter it got so many views I was overwhelmed. Seems people wanna read it, so I wanna write. So yeah, thanks for reading and especially thanks to those who checked in with reviews to let me know its still going well in your eyes._  
_**Ali** **Nowac** \- this one is for you and your mum. Thank you for your kind and encouraging messages :D_

* * *

_**Chapter Five:  
**_Born of Blood and Fire

* * *

Daenerys stared with impotent horror gripping her chest as they built the funeral pyre stack by stack. The khalasar worked long into the night to make this the grandest pyre anyone had ever seen. Yet she just stood there and watched, unable to even lift a hand to help them as they made their tribute to honour her husband. She stood as still as granite, her expression regal in its distant sorrow. She shed no more tears, her body had none left to give, but as they began to light the stacks of twigs and deadwood she felt the heat evaporate the remnants of tears long shed from her cheeks, leaving only a faint trail of salt down her face as she stared into the flames.

No one approached her, scurrying around her if they needed to pass and leaving her to her distant musing as if afraid to enter into her bubble of depression.

The flames caressed her as they grew and their heat soothed something deep in her soul.

She watched as they raised Drogo onto the flames, whereupon immediately the fire ate through his clothes before settling down to devour the rest of him lazily. The smell assaulted her nostrils and she took a shaking breath to calm herself as the flames licked at the skin on his face, causing it to crackle.

* * *

_"The time is now," the dragons hummed as their eggs shook in excitement at the thought of being free._

_"Now?" Rhaego questioned, not quite believing his luck._

_"Now," they assured him. "The fire is set for our hatching, we must summon the mother and she will know what to do."_

_"Do it!" he cried ecstatically, pounding the walls of the womb hoping to help his brothers capture her attention. Mother, please hear me. Do what you have to do. I can't wait to greet you and see my brothers with my own eyes for the first time._

_"We look forward to seeing your real face, too," they sent back. He could feel the anticipation emanating off them in waves and his own heartbeat quickened in response. They were so close now, he could almost taste the outside world._

_Mother, please hurry._

_He kicked again for good measure. Hard._

* * *

Daenerys felt the kicking in her womb only moments before the strange humming sound crooned through her mind once more. It wanted something. She shook her head and focused on her husband's funeral rites stubbornly. This was important.

_"Yes it is important, dear mother,"_ the unfamiliar voice wormed its way to the front of her thoughts and she stiffened. Where did it come from? She saw no one close enough for such an intimate whisper.

_"We are your children,"_ it explained, _"we need you to hatch us now."_

_Hatch_? Her mind whirred as the image of the three beautiful dragon eggs was placed into her thoughts gently.

_Impossible_.

_"No, we are not impossible,"_ the insistent tones were backed with a feeling of urgency. _"But we need you now, dear mother."_

_Why? What is it you need? _she asked the question in her thoughts, hoping they would hear.

They sent another image to her mind, this one more vivid and startling. They told her what they wanted of her and she recoiled in horror. _No, I cannot. I would die._

_"We will not allow that to happen,"_ the voices sounded weaker now, almost pleading. _"Please, hurry, we cannot sustain this much longer."_

Her baby delivered a large kick to the inside of her womb and she almost gasped in shock at its force.

_But my baby,_ she sent back as she imagined the damage this could do to him.

_"He is our brother, this will not harm him. You have our promise."_ With that she felt the thread of connection the eggs had created to her mind fall away, flickering slightly before being severed completely. She tried to grasp after it frantically but failed and found herself panic at feeling the emptiness surround her yet again. She had lost Drogo but she would be damned if she lost them too. Something about their whispered words had filled her with strength and purpose, and she hurried to do their bidding before it was too late and she was alone once more.

Running quickly to the horse satchel where the eggs were kept, attracting many glances from the khalasar while she was at it, she gathered the precious objects into her arms, finding they balanced well on top of her bump, and made straight for the pyre.

"Forgive me, Rhaego," she whispered before leaping into the flames amidst gasps from those around her.

The unbearable heat which she had been anticipating the moment the flames touched her flesh never came, in its place was only an invigorating fire which stoked her soul and caused her to gasp in shock. Within moments the feeling of flames, which were not at all unpleasant, encompassed her and she felt a severe pressure on her stomach. A shuddering pain leaped through her, followed by another and she cried out, laying a hand on her belly.

He was coming.

At the same time the eggs, now laid on the pyre beside her, began to chip slightly.

As the next contraction racked her body, far more violently than the first. This was it. She smiled widely and opened her arms in release, giving herself freely to the flames which consumed her.

* * *

The gathered Dothraki watched in awe as the flames gave way to cinders and their khaleesi was revealed seated in the middle of where the fire had once burned strong, a newborn babe at her breast and three lizard like creatures with wings clung to her charcoal blackened body. As she looked up to meet the gaze of her people one of the lizards bared its teeth at them and hissed, tendrils of smoke rising from its tiny nostrils.

"Khaleesi," they murmured in reverence.

She rose gracefully from the ashes, naked except for a covering of dust, yet she did not shy away from the eyes of the people, instead she stood tall and proud, nursing her child before men. Shameless and beautiful and fierce.

Jorah the Andal stepped forward and bowed low. "My Queen, what does this mean?"

"It means that I am no longer merely Daenerys Stormborn, khaleesi to this tribe," she looked up to him and smiled with a new found self assurance. "I am Daenerys Mother of Dragons."

A hush descended at her words. While many of the gathered tribesmen did not understanding what a dragon was, they were able to tell the significance of these words by her bearing.

Jorah, however, was fully aware of what a dragon was and gasped, falling to his knees before her.

"It is not possible," he shook his head but his voice held a note of question.

"I think you will find it is," she smiled fondly at the green dragon currently stationed on her right shoulder. "These dragons are my children, brothers to the babe who is my son. The prince Rhaego."

"My Queen," he bowed low once more and looked for the first time at the boy in her arms, "my prince."

Daenerys nodded and lay a filth covered hand on his shoulder, meeting his eyes kindly. "We are fulfilling a far greater destiny than I had ever dreamed of, Jorah. Will you join us?"

"I am by your side always," he straightened up and took in the sight of her with pride. She was no longer the timid girl he had met all those months ago, she was a woman worthy of the line of Targaryens and he was honoured to be in her service. "This one is a true Targaryen indeed," softly tapping the babe's forehead and chuckling, "born of fire and blood."

She nodded and gave him her winning smile.

"You must be tired," he offered her his arm and she took it gratefully, allowing him to lead her to the tent where her husband had breathed his last. Once inside she lay down on the furs and let out a sigh of relief. Jorah excused himself with one last backwards glance at his Queen.

"Khaleesi, shall I take your son now?" Jhiqui asked softly, entering the tent as Jorah departed.

"No," Daenerys frowned, "he stays with me. They all stay with me."

"Then let me at least wash you all," Jhiqui pressed, "please."

Daenerys was weary and wanted nothing more than to be left in peace with her new family, yet she realised when she looked to her hands and arms that she was filthy from the fire and would need to bathe before she could allow herself to rest. Rhaegar too was covered in layers of sweat, blood and charcoal which needed seeing to.

She sighed heavily. "Bring me a tub of boiling water and then leave us," she ordered finally.

Jhiqui bowed and left to do her mistress's bidding.

"Welcome to this world, my dear children," she said softly to the dragons and baby as she held them all close.

_"Our thanks, mother,"_ the now familiar thrum of voices reverberated in her mind. She smiled to feel the return of that comforting thread which attached her to the dragons and had previously been severed. She reached out with her mind and sent strong feelings of warmth and affection towards them, and they responded in kind as they curled around her closely. Rhaego, too, stirred as if he could feel the exchanged and wanted to be a part of it.

The copper tub was brought after a little while. Steam danced above the water and Daenerys gathered her children to carry them over to the water where they could bathe together.

_"Delightful,"_ the creamy white dragon sent, shivering slightly with anticipation for the heat.

Slowly, carefully, Daenerys immersed them all in the boiling water and sighed, feeling the tension leave her body and the filth sluice away as the water enveloped her body. Rhaego squirmed happily as he was lowered gently into the water, feeling its heat refresh his senses as he took his bearings in this strange new world. The dragons swam playfully, feeling out the budding strength in their limbs as they paddled and submerged themselves.

While they lay there and soaked in the water Daenerys reached out tentatively with her mind. _"What shall I call you?"_ she asked her dragons.

_"Our names are yours to decide, you are our mother who brought us into this world."_

_"Very well,"_ she thought for a moment. _"I would like to name one of you after Drogo, I shall call him 'Drogon'."_

The largest of the dragons, his scales black with red markings, flexed his wings. _"I would accept this honour,"_ he declared.

Daenerys nodded, it was a good match. She believed, had Drogo been the one to choose a dragon for his namesake, this would have been his choice.

_"Greetings Drogon,"_ she sent a wave of admiration and love through their bond and he quivered slightly. _"I would also like to name one after my brother Viserys, not for the man he was but for the man I wish he had been. He was my brother and I would like to give his name to someone worthy. I shall call them by the name of 'Viserion'."_

The creamy dragon with gold markings sent a flood of acceptance, _"I will do this name proud, mother."_

Her heart caught in her throat for a moment and she nodded, sending waves of gratitude in return.

_"Lastly I would like to honour my mother, who died birthing me and was a truly formidable woman. 'Rhaellath'. Will you accept this name?"_ she looked at the final dragon before her, the tiny, green scaled one with bronze markings.

_"I shall."_

Daenerys did not realise then the honour involved in the naming of a dragon, but it was done and all involved were satisfied. She felt the thrum of approval rushing through them as they became accustomed to their new identities. She smiled and gently wiped all traces of dirt from each of them before scooping them out of the tub and carrying them back to the bundle of furs where they lay down to rest. Before long they were all sleeping deeply and dreaming their first conjoined dream.

The were one now, even in dreams. They were a family.

* * *

_"Brother, we are free,"_ the voices rang out in his mind in the moments before sleep as they all lay on the furs next to the mother.

_"You did it,"_ he returned joyfully. _"We are free indeed. It is strange though," _he frowned,_ "I did not imagine I would be so unable to function. I cannot walk as you do, nor talk. Why is this?"_

A chuckle met his words. _"Humans mature slowly, in time you will run with us. In time we shall fly together."_

_"Yes,"_ Rhaego smiled at the image they sent to his mind's eye of flying, an image no doubt dredged from their ancestral memory as they had not yet flown in this short lifetime.

But they sensed his impatience. _"We shall help you develop quicker, to be like us,"_ they offered.

_"You can do that?"_ he asked, amazed once more at the wonders of those he called brothers.

_"We can," _they replied._ "And for you, we shall."_

He felt their focus on him intensify and a warmth spread through his tiny limbs as they set to work on fixing him.

_"Thank you,"_ he sent with a wave of gratitude, before sleep took him.

* * *

_Author's Note: Yes I changed a dragon's name, but since Rhaego is alive there is no reason to confuse everyone and call a dragon Rhaegal. I opted to call the green dragon after her mother, rather than her father. I'm open to suggestions for alternatives though, if anyone has a better option. _


	8. Interlude Two: Drogo's Song

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

_Please excuse this final Drogo-centric chapter. I just wanted to do an equivalent to the scene in canon where Daenerys dreams of her husband and son once before she can fully move on from their loss, a kind of mourning and closing of that chapter of life. That is my aim with this. I know it may seem like its being drawn out a bit before we reach the real action but I didn't want the Drogo arc to be left incomplete and from here we can say goodbye and get ready to experience new adventures._  
_Also, this is another dream sequence, I hope you don't find it too dull. Its not as trippy as the previous one, which I wanted to feel more like a fevered, terrifying dream, for this is based more on the scene in the TV series._

_Happy reading folks, and thanks again for the encouraging reviews!_

* * *

_**Dream Interlude: Two  
**_Drogo's Song

* * *

In their dreams that night Drogo visited them, his spirit unable to pass over before he had seen his son with his own eyes.

_Daenerys found herself gliding towards the tent which they had shared since their marriage, the flaps wafting invitingly before her as a soft humming came from inside. It was a tune she recognised, a tune which caused her heart to lurch. It was _his_ song. When she had first told Drogo of her pregnancy he had begun to softly hum it to her growing belly each night before she slept, and while the words had always remained a mystery to her the tenderness in his eyes had been easily readable. She shivered as it washed over her, this same melodic noise that beckoned to her from inside their marital tent. Surely none of this could be, her mind cautioned, for her husband was dead._

_A hot tear fell down her cheek before she could stop it._

_Suddenly she was inside the tent, although she did not recall moving willingly towards the bittersweet music it contained, and the scene which greeted her was truly beautiful. Drogo sat stooped over a small child's cot, singing softly and brushing the dark wisps of hair on their son's small head. The dragons also seemed to be joining their voices to the haunting melody; Viserion and Rhaellath perched protectively on the cot while Drogon rested proudly on the shoulder of his namesake. The whole scene had a fuzzy quality to it but even this, the fact it was clearly not real, could not stop her from staggering over to embrace the strong, muscle knotted back of the man she had loved._

_"My sun and stars," she gasped as he turned his eyes, alight with joy, to her._

_"I have come to see you, moon of my life, before I go." He spoke softly, yet with the same familiar rough accent, as he haltingly formed the words in her language which still seemed to feel foreign to him. He cupped her chin firmly with his hands and pulled her in for a kiss that was both passionate and tender._

_"You must go?" she asked breathlessly as they broke away, knowing full well the answer._

_"I cannot stay," he answered reluctantly before reaching into the cot to scoop up his son gently with his large hands. "Before I go, I see our son. Our little warrior. I hold him. I sing for him, as I should."_

_She nodded, the sight of his strong arms filled with the child she had bore him clutched fiercely at her chest and made any relpy other than a sob impossible._

_"The stallion who mounts the world," he whispered reverently as he held the tiny bundle close against his heart._

_Rhaego had squirmed as he was lifted and now appraised the large man with his inquisitive lavender hued eyes, blinking up at Drogo a few times before reaching out with his tiny fingers to touch one of Drogo's braids. He grasped it, examining it curiously and pulled it towards his tiny mouth where he began to chew its ends, drool running down his pudgy fist._

_Drogo laughed heartily and Daenerys joined in, delighted at the antics of her son as he showed himself to be so at ease with his imposing father._

_Drogo then reached down with the arm not holding his child and stroked Rhaego's nose, whispering words to her son that she could not quite catch before grinning up at her and drawing her into his arms also. The two other dragons sidled over to complete the moment and for a while they remained frozen in their embrace, her family. She could feel the heat emanating from Drogo's bare chest, as real as it had always been, and the strong beat of his heart._

_For that moment she knew true happiness as she had never felt it before. She felt complete as she stood surrounded by her husband, who had once been only an arrangement but soon became so much more, and the children they had brought forth. She felt goosebumps run up her arms and she shivered, holding on to Drogo tighter as she felt him suddenly start to slip away._

_"Goodbye my loves," he said softly as the surroundings began to fade._

_She could no longer feel him beside her and in an instant her world had returned to the darkness of dreamless slumber._

_Drogo's song hummed softly at the back of her mind, an echo of their love._

_"No!" she screamed, yet no words left her throat. There was no one there to hear her anymore. Her husband had gone, well and truly left her in this life. "Please no," she pleaded to no one in particular before her mind grew foggy and she slept soundly once again._

_She allowed the tune to sooth her into oblivion._


	9. Meat Pulp

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

_Happy reading folks, and thanks again for the encouraging reviews, you guys are the best!  
Also, sorry **WeylandCorp** **4**, I will be using the dragon's voices as I want a way to have them speak and very often in books on dragons they are portrayed as having psychic communication abilities, which I want to show in this piece. I hope you don't find it too weird, but its vital to my story that they can communicate._

* * *

_**Chapter Six:**_  
Meat Pulp

* * *

Waking from her dream Daenerys felt her heart grow heavy, knowing her love was well and truly gone. Yet she knew many people never got that chance to say goodbye and she was grateful beyond words that she had, no matter how much it hurt to lose him a second time.

Her dragons were also awake, crying softly to each other as if reluctant to wake her.

"What's wrong?" she asked with concern, her sudden alarm brushing away all traces of sleepiness and loss immediately when faced with her troubled babies.

"_Hungry,"_ Rhaellath managed to send, scraping at the rugs pitifully with tiny claws as if willing food to appear from the floor.

She sighed with relief, glad that theirs was a concern she could fix.

"What would you like to eat?" she asked as she jumped up to pull down her bow and arrow, quickly throwing on some combat leathers to ready herself for hunting some small game.

_"Meat, large and bloody,"_ Drogon requested with anticipation, sending mental images with the request which made her chuckle. Her three younglings could surely not eat a whole horse between them, a whole stag, a whole bear? She sent them back an image of smaller prey and they reluctantly sent back an agreement.

_"No bear,"_ Drogon acceded sadly.

She nodded and in a moment was gone, leaving her sleeping maids alone with the young dragons and Rhaego.

_"Brother is hungry too,"_ Rhaellath whined, _"he needs meat if he is to grow in the way we intend."_

Rhaego woke and began crying in answer to the tempting mental pictures the dragons sent him of raw chunks of meat and freshly killed mammals.

_"I get meat, too?"_ he sent between wails.

He knew by now that crying was his main way of communicating with the majority of humans who seemed deaf to his thought sendings. It was not ideal, being such a primitive and irritating way of getting attention, yet for now until he could master their tongue it was all he could manage in this form. Although even when he finally won their attention, it usually proved to be a ridiculously vague method of communicating which was possibly the most annoying thing about it all. How could they tell if he was crying because he needed food, his rags needed changing or he was disturbed by existential questions of the universe? They could not, yet with only the thought-deaf maids here now it was his only option. He howled louder.

Irri, heavy with sleep and slow to rouse, heard his cries and after a moment to get her bearings came over. Rhaego stared calmly up at her, having ceased his crying immediately upon receiving attention, with his large, hauntingly lavender eyes and tried to communicate what it was he wanted with the loudest thought sending he could manage.

_"I need meat,"_ he scrunched up his face with the effort and balled his tiny fists. _"Hear me, maid."_

She bent down to cradle him in her arms and drew him out of the cot, which he found to be a hopeful sign that she had understood and was intending to communicate with him further until he heard her softly saying "you look constipated, little one. You will need changing soon but until then I shall soothe you."

He squirmed in frustration that she would so completely misunderstand his needs, but was soon calmed by her gentle rocking and the lilting melody of her softly hummed tune. It was simple but beautiful. He settled even more when the dragons added their own crooning to her song, which caused her to stiffen in shock and stare around at first with wide eyes, ceasing her tune only for a moment before focusing on him once more and adding her voice to those of his brothers'.

It was perfect.

The other two maids even woke from their slumber and sat up to watch such a special moment take place, this common girl singing with the majestic dragons as no human had done in centuries. Rhaego gurgled happily and waved his own clumsy, pudgy fist in time to the music as something inside him stirred. _Music_. It called to him in a deep way. The music of his brothers' touched him and he could not wait to be able to add his own music to theirs, but for now hearing this maid sing with his dragons delighted him to his very core.

_"We shall sing alongside you one day, little brother,"_ they sent cheerfully, _"you shall add instruments to our song, you shall add words and sounds which we cannot. We shall be together in music as well as flight and it will be glorious."_

He saw this in his mind's eye, his large weapon roughened hands holding an exquisitely carved instrument which his fingers flew across gracefully as he played his music while the dragons sang, raising their true voices to the sky. For now he could only wail and they could only hum, but he glimpsed through them how they would be in years to come, the incredible music they would make, the beauty they would create, and his soul ached for that time. He tried to clutch at the mental picture with his mind but it shimmered elusively before him and was gone.

_"Be patient little brother, we all have far to go before we are they. For now enjoy the beauty we can make with our voices of innocence, for this time will all too soon be taken and once gone its purity cannot be regained."_

He did not understand them, knowing only that he wanted to become the man in that image, but he acceded to their wisdom about such things, knowing they could not be changed at any rate. They were right about one thing, their tune here and now was worth enjoying, not wishing away. With that, he danced; his small body wiggling, his limbs flailing and his heart soaring in response to the captivating music.

By the time they stopped there were many curious Dothraki at the tent flaps, watching and listening in awe, and Rhaego was tired. In Irri's arms he eventually fell asleep and by the time he woke once more the sun was high in the sky and his brothers were growing restless with hunger.

* * *

Daenerys hurried back as quickly as she could, feeling the faint cries of her dragons and hating being away from her children for so long. She hoped the maids knew how to best look after them and she hoped the younglings weren't up to mischief in her absence. Why had she gone herself and not sent others? Her desire to provide for them had won over her desire to stay but she was feeling now that she had taken the wrong approach.

She looked at the kills she had made, now flung over her shoulder and smiled slightly, knowing no one else sent out to find food for her tiny dragons would have brought back so much. She was already such an indulgent mother. They would feast tonight, their little bellies would swell and their hunger pains would be fought off for a while. She hoped.

Not that she knew how much dragons, even baby dragons ate.

She chuckled once more at the mental images they were throwing her way of bears and boar. Wishful thinking, she was not even sure she could catch such creatures if she wanted to. For now plains foxes and the strings of rodents she had caught must suffice, she had killed and carried back at least triple their collective body mass in meat, it would have to be enough.

_"Food is near, my children,"_ she sent as she hurried through the temporary tents of the khalasar, weaving through her people with the hot blood of her freshest kill running in rivulets down her shoulder. Her people bowed to her as she passed, and she took the time to briefly acknowledge them all.

_"Mother returns,"_ the thoughts bounced around her tent in anticipation, each dragon taking up the cry as they felt her approach their position. _"She brings a feast."_

Even the maids, who were oblivious to thought sendings, noticed the atmosphere in the tent change as the dragons' excitement grew palpable. They positively thrummed with energy, their emotions resonating through the very air they were so strong. She resolved never to leave them without her or without food for this long again, sensing the toll the absence of both for the morning had been too much for them at this age.

"I'm back," she entered the tent and the dragons threw themselves at her, greeting her with affection and gratitude as she sent out thoughts of warmth and adoration for them to bask in. Then she dumped the meat from her shoulder to the floor and invited them to eat with a thought nudge.

They looked from her to the meat in confusion, seeming to be unsure of how to proceed.

_"We don't remember,"_ they finally admitted, clawing at the fur and trying to tear it off with their undeveloped teeth. The nips of their teeth made no effect on the fur, except dislodging some hairs, and their hunger bounced around the tent, mingled with frustration as they faced this unforeseen problem.

Daenerys' heart went out to them and she stooped down to the kills, requesting their permission to intervene.

They accepted her help and she carved open the first fox, watching as they stuck their mouths and noses into the hole she had made and nibbled tentatively at the innards.

_"Cold,"_ they shuddered, _"raw."_

It was not a pleasant experience, not like the memories of food which they carried from previous lives. _"We used to flame our food, make the meat tasty,"_ Viserion recalled suddenly, blood dribbling down his scales.

_"So it was,"_ Drogon agreed, picking at the kill with determination.

_"Can you flame yet?"_ Daenerys asked with interest.

_"No, the mothers would flame for us until we were able to flame for ourselves,"_ Viserion looked up at Daenerys with his glittering eyes and she nodded, taking the meat over to the fire pit and skewering it ready for cooking. She stoked the flames and grilled the rodents on the side to cook quickly and provide snacks for her dragons while they waited for the foxes to be done.

They all crowded around the flames, basking in the heat and crooning happily as Daenerys threw the rodents towards them when they were cooked through. Their teeth may have been too tiny to break through the tougher skin of the foxes, but rodents proved to be no trouble. They ate happily.

_"Rhaego needs meat, too, we shall make him grow strong like us,"_ Drogon sent after their immediate hunger pangs had been sated.

"He is a human baby," Daenerys chuckled as she spoke softly to the dragons, "for now he needs my milk, soon I shall start him on small solid food."

_"No mother, he needs meat now. We need this if we are to help him as we promised,"_ they insisted as one.

"What do you mean?" she asked, tossing another rodent towards them and frowning in confusion.

Rhaellath caught the rodent skillfully by the tail and tried to explain. _"We told him we would help him grow quicker, at a dragon rate. That we would shape him to be strong like us. We promised to sculpt him. Mother, if we are to do this he needs meat, for his body needs to be strong enough to begin the shaping."_

_"You want to shape my son?"_ she asked, incredulous. She blinked and tried to fight down the overwhelming emotions, _"what does that mean?"_

_"It is something dragons have done for millennia,"_ Viserion explained, _"choosing humans we feel are worthy and sculpting them in our image. The Targaryens are an example of humans which dragons took an interest in for generations, shaping them to make them more like us; giving distinctive physical traits, greater intelligence, ability to rule, wisdom, strength and beauty, all in our own image. Also a true Targaryen can withstand heat like no mere human can, this is now genetic in your family because of years of dragon influence but many of the other traits your family used to hold, such as genetic memory, have been diluted down over the years due to the lack of a dragon's influence."_

_"But we return, through you dear mother,"_ Drogon declared proudly. _"You revived us and brought dragons back to this world. In return we choose Rhaego, your son, as our own. He is already linked as our brother and it is our right, as dragons, to sculpt him as we see fit. Mother, he has asked us and we have replied, please help us. He needs meat."_

Daenerys listened with rapt attention, closing her eyes as they sent image after image, memory after memory of previous lives and the history of both of their ancestors to her mind. "I..." she began once the images had ceased and all was quiet once more, "I do not know what to say."

_"Trust us, mother,"_ Rhaellath crooned softly into her mind, _"being chosen is a great honour, allow us to exalt your son. He is chosen by us and we will do right by him, you have our word."_

_"The word of a dragon is binding,"_ Viserion clarified, _"once their true name is known by the person receiving the oath."_

Daenerys nodded slowly and walked over to where her son lay, cooing happily and nodding up at her as if he had followed the conversation and wanted to convince her he was on board. She stroked his cheek softly, drinking in the sight of him with his thick dark tufts of hair and his distinctive lavender eyes. _Dragon_ _eyes_, she knew now, having found out the cause for the Targaryen's physical features.

"The stallion who mounts the world," she whispered as she gazed down at him. She could not claim to have thought of him as a babe destined for a normal future, since he had been prophesied already to be a chosen vessel of greatness. Yet she had hoped for some time with him as a helpless infant, as her baby. She didn't know exactly how the sculpting worked but, looking down at his eager eyes, she knew she could not deny him his destiny.

_"They said 'stallion' because they had no word for our kind,"_ Rhaellath interrupted her thoughts after a moment. _"He will not be a stallion, we feed off of stallions. He will be a dragon." _

She nodded slowly. She had always known this was true, somehow.

"He is a Targaryen," she turned from her baby to smile proudly at them. "He is yours to sculpt, dear younglings."

_"Thank you, mother,"_ they sent, their joy and excitement overwhelming her with warmth. _"We will make you proud, all of us."_

_"You already do,"_ she sent back with all of the tenderness in her heart overflowing into that one thought. With that she went to the fire where the meat was crackling and saw the foxes were ready. "Get ready to feast, my children," she carved up the meat and threw chunks around the room, much to the dragons' delight. She then went over to Rhaego and began to feed him some chunks of the same meat, chewing them up herself first before offering them to him on her finger.

He ate them eagerly.

_"Let it begin,"_ Rhaego sent joyously to the dragons as he swallowed the pulps of meat which would give him the strength he needed.


	10. All in a Night's Work

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_..._

_I just want to thank **Guest** for your review suggesting I make Rhaego a true Targaryen with silver hair from the sculpting. I love this idea and hope you like that this chapter shows the beginning of that process. Also thank you **WeylandCorp** **4** for your helpful tip on Rhaego's appearance in the books (which I admit I have not read yet, my loss) which was informative. Not to mention your suggestions on whose point of view to write from. I am excited to say my next chapter will be using the point of view of one of your suggestions :) just building up to a point where I can do that naturally with this small fill in chapter.  
Thanks for the reviews and for reading, it makes my day._

* * *

_**Chapter Seven:**_  
All in a Night's Work

* * *

Rhaego saw them in his sleep, the dragons. They danced around him and sang into his mind as he felt a soft tingling sensation creep across his body followed by a warmth spreading from his chest out to the tips of his fingers. He scrunched his fists and shivered as waves of heat passed over him, growing hotter and hotter as the dragons claimed him. Searing him from the inside, reworking him to their own image. He rejoiced even as the the pain struck.

_"You are safe, little prince"_ their voices soothed as the heat became uncomfortable even for him, a true Targaryen.

_"I know,"_ he sent back even as his nerves set alight with their relentless pulses of energy. He trusted them. They had felt his discomfort turn to pain and he could sense them stepping in, intruding on his mind to collectively shoulder the burden of his agony and free him of such things so that his mind could focus on the memories they flowed through him. So many memories. They showed him streams of images and thoughts, the rise and fall of dynasties, they showed him their memory of the aeons and he dreamed of lives he had never known. He dreamed of the lost age of the dragons.

_"We will teach you, remind you of all that we are,"_ they promised.

* * *

Daenerys stirred as she sensed something was happening. She sat herself up and felt the energy thrum throughout the room, tingling her senses and sending a shiver up her spine. "What-?" she began, rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes.

_"Fear not dear mother,"_ the feel of Rhaellath's mind brushing gently against hers was soothing and all traces of panic vanished in an instant, snatched away and replaced only by a deep seated curiosity.

She picked herself up and strode over to the crib around which the dragons were perched, like sentinels keeping watch over their charge. In the half light of the moon's glow which crept in through the cracks of their tent it was difficult to make out much, so she lit a candle and placed it down to one side to better see and understand this moment. The scene was important, she knew, although she could not explain why, she just felt it was so. She walked forward and lay her hands softly on either side of the crib, feeling a momentary warmth of welcome from her dragons before they set their minds back to her son. Their expressions seemed intently focused, although she was not yet accustomed to their ways enough to pick out most emotions from their body language, all she knew was that they were clearly watching Rhaego with a fierceness which drew her. Looking over the edges of the crib she was relieved to see Rhaego sleeping soundly, despite the occasional flicker flitting across his face as if he reacted to the most vivid of dreams.

As the quivering candlelight illuminated the planes of her son's face she gasped. _His_ _hair_.

_"What is wrong?"_ Viserion asked, a worried note in his thought sending as the dragons turned as one upon hearing her shock.

"Rhaego.." she began, pointing to his tufts of hair with disbelief, "he has a strand of white hair that wasn't there before."

Sure enough, plain as day under the candle's light as it fell over his features, the front right-hand-side locks of his hair were now silver-gold. Even more silvery than her own, she noted as she stared down at these new tresses which gleamed in the night. The strand was also longer than the rest of his dark hair, falling down over his eyebrow and curling at the ends into light tendrils like wisps of gold-spun smoke.

_"Do you dislike it, mother?"_ Viserion puzzled, his nostrils flaring as the tiniest puff of smoke rose to the ceiling. All of the pride which they had felt at their collective achievement thus far was seemingly forgotten as the three young dragons gazed imploringly up at Daenerys, desperate for her approval.

For a moment Daenerys did not know what to say, staring in shock at the baby before her. Was it her imagination or was he also larger, the edges of his face more defined? It took the pleading tone in Viserion's sending to bring her back to the situation, feeling the attention of her dragons on her as they waited for her reply. Reply to what? Her mind reeled, trying to catch up, she could not recall a question. She felt the tension in her shoulders and back relax slightly. This was not such a big deal, she told herself, the dragons were merely shaping him as a true Targaryen. She had prepared herself for this as she had tossed and turned before falling asleep that night, hadn't she? They had warned her. She had expected this. This was no big deal.

_"Mother?"_ the dragons prompted, feeling her distance as a sign that she was angry or upset.

Yet she couldn't prevent the outpouring of emotions as she saw him lying there, displaying the trademark Targaryen features for all to see in a way that he had not when she put him to bed last night. While she had loved the heavy mix of Drogo she saw in him, she realised as she glanced down at him now that he truly was blood of her blood. The continuation of her line, the heir of her throne. He was her family's legacy and looking upon his peaceful face with these new found Targaryen tresses, she felt a whole host of emotions well up inside her that she had not known before. Stronger than love, stronger than a need for vengeance and justice, stronger than anything she had ever felt this emotion overcame her and the dragons shuddered softly in response as if they, too, could feel its power.

"He is beautiful," she choked as she turned her tear-glistening eyes to her dragons. "So utterly beautiful." She drew in a shaky breath and straightened her shoulders before sending waves of gratitude towards her dragons, "as are you."

The intensity of their returned affection nearly knocked her off her feet and she felt tears pouring down her cheeks as she stood and kept watch over her son with her dragons, feeling the energy surrounding them as they worked over his sleeping form all night.

As the first rays of the sun broke through the darkness and bathed their tent with a soft glow she marveled at the miracles before her, her children. The light shimmered off of the dragons' scales like precious gems and highlighted the streak of white-gold hair crowning her son's head, setting it off magnificently as the candle had not. She was surrounded by the most magnificent creatures she had ever known, one of them being her own son.

"We are Targeryen," she whispered reverently as she reached down for the first time and caressed the lock of white-gold hair, marveling at how it flowed through her fingers, its touch like molten silk.

At her contact Rhaego stirred and opened his eyes sleepily. Daenerys was surprised to note that his lavender eyes were now even more vivid, glowing with a luminescence as if lit from behind by a fire of their own. In the sunlight she could make out that there were also now flecks of green, black and gold showing close to the iris; the colour of their dragons reflected within his very soul. His eyes were like non she had ever seen, more unique than even her own. She could not tear her own eyes away, gazing at him adoringly and wondering how else they would grow and develop him. He was already breathtaking.

They studied each other quietly, Rhaego squinting in concentration and Daenerys noting every detail, drinking up the sight of him with greed. For a moment, as their eyes held, she felt a depth of connection she had not expected and her heart fluttered with tenderness and joy. She was about to reach down to take him in her arms when he opened his tiny mouth, gaping slightly as if working unused muscles, and after a moment managed to say his first word.

"Muña?" _Mother_.

He had spoke to her in the tongue of High Valyrian.


	11. The Red Waste

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_..._

_Here we go with a Jorah-centric chapter **WeylandCorp** **4**, I hope you like it (please let me know if you find it out of character or not great in any way!)  
This one is for you :3_

* * *

_**Chapter Eight:**_  
The Red Waste

* * *

_Four months later_

* * *

Jorah chuckled fondly as Rhaego toddled around on his unsteady legs, heading straight for him with a pudgy fistful of dust. Red dust. For some reason the child was fascinated with the stuff.

Its appeal was something Jorah could not see, as to most of the weary travelers who remained in Daenerys' khalasar it was nothing more than the troublesome stuff which they were constantly finding in their clothes, in their hair, entering their nostrils and mouths; this infuriating dust which seemed adept at finding its way into any crevice big or small. It had, over the last four months while traveling doggedly through the Red Waste, become the bane of his life. He especially hated when it flew into his eyes and he would have to blink rapidly until tears formed before he could see clearly once more. With bathing kept to a minimum he had even stooped to a new low when he found himself resorting to picking the clumps of red sand from his belly button and from between his toes each evening in what had become a kind of ritual.

He certainly did not feel the desire to carry it around like a prized possession as the young Targaryen seemed to.

However he could not deny there was something endearing about how Rhaego found pleasure in such things, in _every_ thing truth be told. He was a bright, inquisitive child who loved nothing more than exploring the world around him in whatever way he could. Jorah had taken immense pleasure in watching the young child's development as he had grown at an astounding rate, in both ability and understanding, during the months since his birth. Seeing his personality blossom had been a privilege he had not expected to take such delight in, never having had much to do with children, yet he had become slowly enamoured with the boy.

It would have been impossible not to.

"Sand," Rhaego grinned happily as he threw the handful of obnoxious stuff into the air and sat down with a thud on the floor, his stubby legs giving way underneath him as the dust scattered and fell in clouds, covering his hair and face. He coughed slightly before giggling at his own antics and looking up to his friend to share the moment of simple delight.

"Oh Rhaego," Jorah knelt down to the small boy and shook his head slightly, hiding a smile as he brushed the smattering of dust from the child's stunning silver-gold hair.

Having been born with dark matted hair, thick and coarse, everyone had been shocked to watch day by day as the child's hair changed so dramatically. From the night when he had grown those first silver wisps of hair, Targaryen style, the changes had expanded and now the majority of his head was covered in white blonde tendrils which already snaked down to his shoulders. Dark streaks were scattered here and there, a remnant of his Dothraki heritage, but with only one truly substantial block of dark hair left now, curling down from his forehead to behind his ear on the left side of his tiny, sharp face.

The only other traces of the Dothraki blood coursing through his veins were the abundance of thick, dark eyelashes and his dark eyebrows, high and angular like his father's. They framed his strangely luminous, alluring lavender eyes, drawing attention to them with their contrast to the rest of his pale features and making them even more piercing.

He was a beautiful child indeed, growing at a rate which baffled the knight, who watched him closely day in day out.

Rhaego squirmed as Jorah held his face still to wipe the red dust from around his eyes gently.

Daenerys looked over her shoulder from where she sat cross legged, encouraging her dragons to flame a chunk of flesh she had caught for them, and smiled indulgently at the sight of her son playing with her knight. Jorah's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, as it always did, but he quickly squashed it. He had come to terms long ago with the fact she was not his to look at, not in that way. He knew the part he was assigned, and he played it well. For her.

"Jorah?" Rhaego's lisping voice, as he pronounced his name in a strangely accented manner, snatched his attention away from Daenerys and back to the child before him.

"Yes, my _khalakka_?" he had taken to calling him by the Dothraki term for prince.

"We play?" he smiled his dazzling smile, a smile he knew Jorah was weak to, which was made all the more winning by the fact he had recently cut his first three teeth, before holding his hand up to the man as he waited with confidence to be helped back to his feet. Dust smudged down his nose with a shade of dull red and Jorah could not help but break into a smile at the sight as he grasped the child's tiny hand in his own and heaved him easily to his feet.

"What game?" he asked as his light, age-lined eyes twinkled down at the child. So it was that with those two words he became tied into yet another afternoon of entertaining the toddler with merriment and adventure, until the sun kissed the horizon for the last time that evening.

Not that he minded one bit.

At first when Jorah had worked on bonding with the child his reward had been a smile or tender glance, a nod, maybe even a laugh from his _khaleesi_. Yet now, although those moments when she fondly acknowledged his bond with her son still quickened the blood through his veins, this was no longer the reason for his desire to be around the child. He had come to find these moments, the hours after the heavy riding of the day's travel but before sunset, when Rhaego was allowed to play, were becoming precious to him for their own merit. Often, admittedly, Rhaego would choose to waddle along after the dragons, wrapped up completely in their little world as they danced and played together. However there were other times, such as now, when Daenerys taught them skills that Rhaego could not learn, and during these times it was Jorah who the boy turned to. Jorah who, out of all who doted on him, Rhaego chose to play with.

Jorah who the boy had first pointed to and lisped "_raqiros_." Raqiros meaning _friend_ in High Valyrian. That moment had warmed his heart and solidified the boy's place in it forever.

Some days this thought alone buoyed Jorah's spirits more than even romantic recognition from Daenerys could.

His feelings for the child had been unexpected, he knew. This did not mean he would not embrace them wholeheartedly. He had swore his fealty, as a knight of Westeros, to the young boy the moment he came forth from the ashes of Drogo's pyre. Now he would lay not just his sword, but his heart at the boy's feet.

* * *

He cradled the tiny bundle in his arms, the boy's face slackened in sleep and still dusty from playing with and in the sand. He smiled at his prince tenderly as he carried him back to his family.

Daenerys did not look up as she heard him approach, yet he knew from the slight change in the angle of her shoulders that she sensed that he was there. He could feel her awareness and so he waited and watched as she pushed her dragons, now the size of large canines, to flame the meat before them. She was relentless with this task and had been intent for the last few weeks on her dragons mastering it so they could flame with ease now that their flame sacs had developed enough.

Rhaego stirred in his arms. His eyes slowly opened and he lay his head against Jorah's chest quietly as he watched the dragons' attempts with interest.

"Dracarys," _dragonfire_, he called in encouragement and the largest of the beasts, his scales black and his demeanor powerful even at such a tender age, flickered his eyes to the boy and chose that moment to let out the most impressive burst of fire Jorah had seen any of them do so far. Rhaego giggled in delight and clapped his hands before pushing away from Jorah until he was lowered, toddling over to the dragon the moment his tiny feet touched the ground.

Daenerys just watched her son in silence, covering her shock well with a mask of detached interest to all but he, who knew her too well. He watched her as she looked from the large black dragon to her son and back, as if attempting to follow a conversation. Which is probably exactly what she was doing, he realised.

She had told him a few times of the creatures' ability to communicate telepathically, but seeing them converse while being unable to hear what was being said still unnerved him. There was something so..._unnatural_ about it all. It just didn't sit right with him, especially watching how easily young Rhaego flitted between telepathic communication and High Valyrian, with the main area he struggled grasping was the common tongue. His mother tongue, supposedly. His accented, stilted attempts at the common tongue were certainly, like everything about the boy, far in advance of his age. His Dothraki was also improving slowly. Yet neither could compare to the ease with which he commanded the tongue of High Valyrian, a language the boy had never been exposed to but seemed so proficient in.

Who was this child that Jorah had come to so adore? _What_ was he?

He exchanged a look with Daenerys and saw exactly the same question in her mind. He nodded sharply and dismissed himself, leaving the child to play with his dragons.

Daenerys followed him, rising gracefully from the dust and brushing herself off.

"Jorah," she implored him quietly.

"Yes, khaleesi?" he turned immediately, his heart thumping in his chest as he met those beautiful eyes.

"I would talk with you. We approach the lands of the East and my time has been taken up with matters of motherhood," she glanced back at her children. "He is growing so fast, they all are, it leaves me little time for anything else," she sighed heavily.

Jorah bowed low, "I understand, Khaleesi, motherhood is no small matter." Especially under such circumstances; three dragons and a rapidly developing infant.

She gave him a quick smile, grateful for his support, before her demeanor turned business-like once more.

"I need to know what lies out there, what we will come across. It is vital now more than ever," she indicated Rhaego with a wave of her hand, "that we retake the Iron Throne and our rightful place as ruler of Westeros. I will not have my son, a true dragon, inherit dust." To highlight her point she kicked up a small clump of the red sand and they watched in silence as it settled.

He nodded, a smile spreading across his face as he imagined their triumphant return to the land of their birth once more. The day of her victory.

"I shall not rest until I see you seated on that throne, your highness," he met her eyes with an intensity that went beyond his longing for her and was, instead, a longing for her desires to be made reality. Not just for her sake either, nor the sake of her son. Westeros deserved its rightful ruler, not the foolish child, the product of incest who now controlled it. And they shall have her, that he vowed.

She lay a hand on his shoulder, smiling up at him with such trust it nearly broke his heart. He knew he did not deserve it. A fact he refused to dwell on as he could not change the past, merely use what he knew from what he had done to protect her, and shape their future. He would one day earn her trust in his own eyes, as well as hers.

"So you can help me?" she asked softly. "Tell me of the lands we shall be entering?"

"I can," he inclined his head.

"Thank you," her shoulders visibly relaxed and she moved the conversation on to her children, talking in an animated way which never failed to warm his heart. There would be plenty of time to talk business tomorrow and the day after, they were a long way from reaching the lands of the East, he knew. He grimaced, not relishing the idea of picking sand out of his toes for much longer.

* * *

_Two weeks later_

* * *

They had been riding for so long now, pushing the horses far past their limits. It was difficult for everyone, this expanse known as the Red Waste, it took no prisoners.

Jorah glanced across with concern at Daenerys as her horse plodded along, sweat tangling its mane into clumps of matted hair while dust clogged its eyes. The poor thing looked so weary in the way it carried itself, which definitely did not bode well.

Even the Dothraki, a nomadic people used to the hardships of long rides, were growing restless with the pace and never ending wasteland. There had been no fresh water for two days now and Jorah was not sure how long they could continue once their waterskins ran dry. The only ones who seemed to be faring relatively well were Rhaego and the dragons, who appeared so far to be unfazed by the harsh conditions. This could have something to do with Jorah's suspicions that Daenerys snuck them some of her water rations, as he did for Rhaego, or it could be that they were just more resilient somehow.

Yet even they could not last forever without water.

The heat caused his vision to waver, showing the horizon as a fluctuating and unreachable destination, the sand spread out for as far as the eye could see. He blinked and ignored the headache that had plagued him for weeks now as he focused on the way ahead, fighting down any worries that this horizon of never ending red dust would be the last thing he ever saw. He would not allow that to be the case. He refused to fail Daenerys, and little Rhaego.

He heard a cry from his left and turned quickly to face Daenerys, watching with horror as her horse keeled over to the ground and she had to throw herself and Rhaego to the side so as not to be squashed under its considerable weight. Once they had stood up and brushed off the dirt from their fall Rhaego looked at their white mare with his big eyes and held out a hand to stroke her knotted mane as she panted heavily. Daenerys stood over them both and watched with sadness as the horse took its last laboured breaths before falling still.

"Muña?" Rhaego cried as he looked up to her, his large eyes brimming with confusion as to why the creature lay lifeless.

"Morghe," she whispered softly and the small child shook his head slowly in wonder. _Dead_.

As Rhaego came to terms with the loss Jorah approached Daenerys, his fears masked yet readable to her. He saw them reflected in her own eyes, the question hanging over them which she must now find an answer to as their queen.

"What now?" he whispered urgently, drawing her slightly away from the crowd as the other Dothraki stopped their horses and dismounted, all looking to her for guidance.

For a second she said nothing, weighing up their options in her mind before speaking hesitantly. Which was fine, she knew she could show hesitation with him.

"I will send my bloodriders off in different directions, they will scout for us and report what they find."

It was most likely a death sentence for them, as well as the rest of the camp but he nodded at her suggestion, knowing they did not have a choice.

"Will you see to Rhaego as I make the arrangement?" she asked distractedly.

"Of course, my queen."

"Thank you, Jorah."

With a swish of her hair and a brisk pace, which belied none of the discomforts of the last few months, she was gone. She strode through the khalasar with a perfectly sculpted mask of confidence and gave her orders without hesitation, without any emotion. Her bloodriders inclined their heads and briefly exchanged glances. They would do their duty, as honour demanded, yet none of them were under the illusion that this was anything other than a suicide mission.

Rhaego walked up to him and slipped his hand into Jorah's, wrapping his fingers around the man's middle finger in what had become his way.

Jorah knelt to be on level with the boy and searched his eyes for any lingering signs of distress over the horse's passing. He knew how Rhaego had been fond of the beast. There was none. Instead he was surprised to see Rhaego staring intently at his mother's bloodriders as they departed to ready their gear for the task she had requested of them.

Rhaego then turned to look at Jorah with eyes freshly filled with sorrow.

"Morghe," he said sadly, blinking quickly. His hand trembled slightly in Jorah's and a chill ran up the man's spine.

"What?" he asked, his eyes widening in shock at the significance of Rhaego's comment.

"Morghe" Rhaego repeated before dropping his hold on Jorah's finger and scampering back off to his dragons.

Before turning to keep an eye on the child as he had promised Daenerys, Jorah could not help but follow the bloodriders with his gaze, wondering if the boy meant all three would die, one would die or the entire khalasar, including them, were as good as dead. He desperately wanted to question him, but wondered if they were better off not knowing, or even if he could glean sense from the boy; anything more specific and helpful than 'dead'.

All he knew was that he should definitely tell Daenerys, then she could decide how to proceed. With a heavy heart he watched the riders as their horses galloped into the distance, kicking up fresh clouds of sand and disappearing over the horizon. Once they were out of sight he returned his attention to his prince and tried to put the unsettling event out of his mind until he spoke to his _khaleesi_ later that night.

As he watched the boy playing with his dragons, suddenly carefree once more, all Jorah could think was of what had been said and what it all would mean.

He found himself mulling a familiar question over and over in his mind. It was one he had been pondering over constantly since Rhaego was born.

_What was this boy?_


	12. Of Severed Heads and Hope

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

...

_This one may have something that could cause slight distress, sorry. Its a chapter which I just wanted to write to show the hardships faced in the waste but if you don't like how I did a certain thing then let me know and I can rethink it._  
_The action will get better after this, next chapter they reach Qarth and things happen!_

_ (30.05.2016) Thank you **Hadassa96** for pointing out my typo and leaving such great reviews! It's so great to know you readers have my back with errors :3_

* * *

_**Chapter Nine:**_  
Of Severed Heads and Hope

* * *

It had been days. Five, maybe six rotations of the earth. Daenerys was too exhausted to count sometimes. In the constant heat, as the sand whipped past and grazed her face, she doubted. She doubted her orders, she doubted the prophesies and promises which had brought them this far and she doubted her own decision to lead these people through such dangerous land.

Would her bloodriders return? Doubtful.

Would her khalasar survive? Also doubtful.

Bile rose in her throat as her thoughts spiraled darkly. Had she failed them all?

"Khaleesi drink," Jorah handed her the water skin from where he slumped beside her and offered a small smile. Sometimes the trust and faith she saw in his eyes when he looked at her, even now, was enough to chase away the doubts she carried so close to her heart. Just not today.

She smiled weakly back at him and took a tiny sip of the precious water, feeling the bliss as the moisture met her cracked lips then swam over her swollen, dry tongue. She refused to swallow for a moment as she swilled the tiny mouthful around her mouth and savoured the feeling of a relief to the dryness. A relief too soon gone. She swallowed and slumped back against Jorah's horse, too weak to do anything but watch as her dragons hummed serenely to her son and the sand shimmered apathetically all around them.

Even Rhaego was struggling now and it broke her heart to watch him suffer so. He sat down, in the shadow of his dragons, and his head lolled forward every now and then in the heat as exhaustion threatened to claim him. The dragons willed strength into their brother, she could feel it, but even this was beginning to wane as they were starting to struggle too. Since they had shared out the last of the meat of her horse to everyone, a task which she had not relished, they had found no new food and they had resorted to living off of the dry, long legged bugs they found in the sand. How long could dragons last with no meat, she wondered sadly, watching the way they held themselves with their wings lowered and their necks bowed as if it was too much effort to hold themselves high and proud anymore. Even they were wilting.

The sight of her son and dragons, their powerful energy being depleted by her choice to stay put, shattered something within her and she felt a rage build, one which gave her strength.

She shook her head and stood up, feeling the blood rush quickly to her head as she rose too quickly. She waved away the dizziness and ignored the cracked voice of Jorah as he protested, watching her unsteady walk with concern. She could feel the intensity of his gaze as his eyes followed her but she could not concern herself with that right now. Yes she felt physically weak, and yes their options were limited, but she was a Targaryen and she had realised, seeing her children suffer, that it was not for her to wait as death slowly claimed all those she cared for. She would not sit quietly as those around her slowly succumbed to the harsh desert. No more passivity. Her body may be weakened but her soul was dragonborn, she could handle a little heat.

She straightened her shoulders and felt a fresh wave of strength surge through her. She may not yet know where she would lead her people but any direction would be better than rotting here at the mercy of the relentless sun.

"Hear me, my khalasar," she addressed them fiercely, her voice raw as she tried to shout loud enough to be heard and inspire confidence; hoping her determination would prove infectious. "We have-"

She paused mid-sentence and stared at the horizon, uncertain as to whether she were hallucinating or not. Those who had given her their attention when she began talking turned to see what grabbed her interest now, shading their eyes from the reflected brightness of the sand and squinting to see what approached. A murmur grew as people realised who this was and she was surprised to feel tiny fingers wrap around her thumb as she stood in silence and stared at the approaching horse.

"Rakharo," she rasped as the horse came close enough for her to make out its features. Close enough for her to see that it had no rider.

"Quba," Rhaego gripped her thumb tighter and leaned in behind her billowing, tattered skirts. _Bad_.

She glanced down at her son and saw his large eyes brimming with concern. He nibbled his lip and she drew him into her arms as a need to hold him close overwhelmed her.

"Its okay, zaldrīzes-Ītsos" she had taken to calling him _l__ittle_ _dragon_ in high Valyrian, a nickname he loved.

He did not respond, instead he buried his little face into her long hair and wound the wavy locks around his fingers, shaking slightly in her arms as he felt her begin to walk over to the unmanned horse.

"Zūgagon daor," he whispered in his lisped voice, so quietly she could barely hear him despite the fact he was so close to her ear that his breath tickled her. _Do not_ _be_ _afraid_. She shivered, knowing it was not to her that he spoke but to himself. What was it he knew, or sensed? What frightened him so?

Jorah stood up and walked by her side, his strides short, heavy and slow, his posture weakened. It did not matter, she showed enough strength for both of them as she carried her child steadily across the vast expanse. She felt the dust fly around her suddenly as it was disturbed by the three young dragons who followed her protectively. They batted their wings and managed short bursts of flight before they fell to the ground once more. They were still learning to use their wings and the current situation did not help much but despite the hardships they still progressed beyond her wildest dreams, sometimes able to sustain a single glide for a few feet.

"That's it, my children," she called back to them as pride swelled in her heart at the sight of her dragons attempting flight and refusing to give up. They were weak and hungry, yet nothing broke their spirit.

Viserion crooned eagerly at her praise and attempted an overly ambitious flight, leaping higher into the air than usual and ending up falling to the ground with an undignified somersault followed by a sharp cry.

Rhaego looked up from the strands of hair he had been grasping, pointed to the upended dragon and laughed at the sight. Viserion righted himself and shook off the dust, ignoring the looks he was attracting from the surrounding Dothraki and snorting a puff of smoke from his nose indignantly. _"I meant to do that,"_ he sent to Rhaego,_ "it was a style of flight never done before by a dragon."_

_"I wonder why,"_ Rhaego sent back, still giggling with delight as he teased his brother happily. Daenerys was relieved to see the fear and tension emanating from him moments before had been swiftly replaced with adoration and amusement towards the dragons.

Viserion shook his head and tail free of sand before attempting flight once more, managing only a glorified hop before landing heavily. If dragons could blush she felt he would be bright red right now, she smiled to herself.

_"Serves you right, show off,"_ Rhaellath sent, snorting with amusement at her brother's antics.

Rhaego then sent mental pictures of poor Viserion's clumsiness over and over again to the dragons, until even Viserion was laughing at himself. Meanwhile they approached the bloodrider's horse and Daenerys was glad that her children were all distracting themselves as the last thing she needed was to be overwhelmed with their feelings of dread.

Jorah put a hand out in front of her as they reached the horse.

"Allow me, my Queen," he bowed as she nodded her permission and began searching through the horse's packs warily. She would never show her relief at him stepping up like that, she was just grateful to have him by her side for times like this and as he rummaged she turned her attention to Rhaego, stroking the silky locks of his hair and inhaling the scent of him as she held him close. He turned from the dragons and towards the horse with a sombre expression at the exact moment she heard Jorah's sharp intake of breath.

"What is it?" she demanded tersely, fighting down the prickling of fear as Jorah turned towards her with a horrified expression and slowly lifted from the satchel a Dothraki braid, followed by a severed head. It still dripped with blood. She could not tear her gaze from its eyes for a moment, those lifeless eyes which had once been so fierce and proud. Those eyes which had shone with mirth when her husband made a joke and softened kindly while patiently teaching her the skills of a warrior. The eyes she had looked into as she sent her men, her husband's friends, on this suicide errand.

A wave of nausea washed over her as she regarded her valiant bloodrider's features, now slack in death.

"Rakharo," she choked and Jorah nodded sadly.

Drogon hissed angrily, spitting tiny flames in outrage and she felt the influx of her dragon's emotions as they, too, processed what had happened. What this meant.

"It is a message," she realised, her voice tight with emotion. "But from who?"

Rhaego stiffened in her arms and she held him tighter, protectively.

Jorah met her gaze hesitantly and in that moment he confirmed what she had known the moment he had produced the head. Those dogs from Westeros would pay for this, would pay for all of the blood on their hands, for the blood of her family and now her friends. She had been too complacent before, deluding herself to thinking she was out of their reach here in the East but it seems she was mistaken. She read their message loud and clear; she would never be safe and neither would her children or her people so long as they still drew breath.

Very well.

She took the head of Rakharo from Jorah and threw it to her starving dragons.

"Take strength from this, strength to avenge his death. We will not allow his sacrifice to be in vain," she commanded as she watched her dragons set upon the severed head. The Dothraki watched with wide eyes as they flamed and torn the flesh from his face, but to her relief none of them tried to prevent it. In fact, they all bowed their heads to their fallen comrade and the young dragons as shouts for strength and vengeance rose among them. The dragons grew visibly stronger with each mouthful and Daenerys gave them a tight smile as the blood dripped down their chins and the smell of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils.

This was a cremation worthy of a true warrior, she knew somewhere within herself that Rakharo would approve and so she jostled Rhaego on her hip and watched until the very last scrap of flesh was devoured and her babies were temporarily sated. She would remember this moment and make sure those who plotted against her would remember it also.

_"They know not who they deal with, mother,"_ Drogon sent as the dragons settled to let their food go down.

_"But they soon will,"_ Rhaego returned, his innocent features distorted with an anger that startled her but quickly vanished.

She nodded numbly and stroked her son's back, more to comfort herself than him. He squirmed in her arms, restless to join his dragons and she set him down, watching as he walked with his unsteady gait, growing in confidence each day.

Her baby.

* * *

A few hours later, as the khalasar mounted their horses ready to depart in the direction she decided, they saw another figure on the horizon. She squinted and, mounting Rakharo's weary steed, approached it with trepidation. Rhaego sat before her with his head resting against her chest and the dragons and Jorah stayed besides her, as always. Whatever she now had to face she knew they would give her courage.

As she got closer her eyes made out a figure atop of a horse and they were heading straight for her.

She felt the built up tension ooze from her as the lines of both horse and man became familiar. Kovarro. Could it really be him?

"Hail, khaleesi" he shouted hoarsely, the wind catching at his words.

"Hail Kovarro," she called in return, her voice catching in her throat as relief washed over her.

The Dothraki behind her all cried out with joy as they saw him return to them, their warrior. His presence seemed to fill their with a new strength borne of hope.

As they headed towards him and he towards them they eventually met and once she was close enough to make out the smaller details of his face and clothes she dismounted, leaving Rhaego to ride the horse alone for a moment, and ran toward him, past caring that it was unseemly for a Queen to run. He, too, dismounted and bowed before her, glancing up at the surrounding Dothraki as if unable to believe he had found them at last.

"You have returned," she finally managed.

"I have, khaleesi," he smiled and straightened to his full height before her. "I bring welcome from the city of Qarth which lies to the East, they extend the hand of friendship towards us. They offer shelter and friendship."

Her eyes glistened as she nearly cried, finding hope where there had once only been despair. "How far away?"

"One day's ride," he indicated the direction he had come from and she smiled. That was manageable.

"Very well," she nodded slowly before turning to the gathered khalasar behind them. "We ride for Qarth."

A cheer rose up in answer and she felt buoyed by their enthusiasm.

Before Kovarro turned to mount his steed once more she placed her small, calloused hand on his arm to stop him and held out her nearly depleted water skin. "Drink," she commanded.

"Khaleesi," he protested in shock as his eyes flickered between her offering and the set features of her face, "I cannot."

She gripped his arm harder and glared up at him insistently. He had risked his life for them to bring this message of hope, this was the least she could do. "Drink," she repeated.

Others saw what she was doing and many Dothraki also dismounted, bearing their own water skins and holding them towards him.

"Drink," they demanded, their voices overlapping each other in a tide of determination as they all pressed forward.

Daenerys smiled with fierce affection for these people, her people, as they offered what little they had to the man who had given so much. No one relented until he had taken a small sip from every water skin. He bowed to them all, humbled, and they swiftly remounted their steeds.

They rode on, once more chasing fate to where ever it would guide them.

Daenerys set her jaw, knowing that for her it must lead towards retribution and the time of reckoning where she would claim back her birthright and turn those who stood against her to ash. She would make it so, she _must_ make it so for the sake of her son.

Rhaego looked up at her and smiled his innocent, guileless smile. She kissed his forehead and he wiggled happily in her grasp, drooling slightly from the corner of his mouth onto her arm as another teeth cut through. She had never seen anything so beautiful.


	13. The Seeds of Discontent

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

_Now the action will begin to pick up a little. One thing I need to work on is pacing, so please let me know how well you think this works, or doesn't :)_  
_By the way I am writing this chapter using Doreah's voice, she's not a character I have studied much so if you find yourselves disliking how I wrote her please let me know why, I'd love any feedback or constructive criticism!  
Also I may take more liberties with the storyline from now on, mainly because my memory of this season of GoT is fuzzy. I'll follow the broad outline but may give my own twist on events. I hope that doesn't put people off, if you have any quibbles let me know and I'll try to work on them!_

* * *

_**Chapter Ten:  
**_The Seeds of Discontent

* * *

Doreah was sick of the constant trials of sand, starvation and hardship, something she had borne far too much under the leadership of _her_ _khaleesi_. More and more she regretted the day she had ever accepted Viserys' offer of a life as a handmaiden over the sometimes miserable but often stable life of a pleasure girl. Better the devil you know.

She was so out of her depth with this lifestyle of a nomadic barbarian that she found herself longing for the luxurious rooms of customers who had been able to afford her prices, for the glamour of serving such well to do men, even just for a bed to sleep on and food and water at her disposal once again. She longed for her old life, a life of relative ease before she had even heard of the name _Targaryen_.

She scowled and brushed sand from her eyes as she squinted ahead at the never-ending horizon. Her face was raw and her mouth dry, the blisters on her thighs had grown their own blisters and she fumed for this was not at all what she had been promised.

Yet she more than most knew the value of men's promises...

_"How would you like to be free,"_ Viserys had asked as he traced slow circles over her skin with his soft, water-shriveled fingers. _"How would you like to be my queen?"_

She could not deny that the word _queen_ had enchanted her. The promise of freedom had tempted her. His words had seduced her more than those feeble attempts with his fingers ever could. As she lay in that tub with his hands exploring her body, her mind had wondered to jewels and feasts and power. Before she knew it she had said yes.

Gods what a fool she had been.

She glanced ahead at Daenerys who strode on ahead with purpose, as if she didn't know what a wasted effort this all was. Even if they did by some miracle survive the next few hours and make it to this city, the chance of her reclaiming that iron throne Viserys had loved to harp on about with his every breath was negligible. As a whore she had learned quite a lot about high houses and people of power, what a shame he had never thought to ask her opinion on his schemes, as she could have told him a thing or two. Their plans were hopeless, how had she ever allowed herself to be caught up in them?

Her head swam as the merciless rays beat down on her, bringing forth yet another trickle of sweat which snaked down her spine and itched uncomfortably. She had no strength left for the effort of wiping it away, all of her energy was concentrated on merely staying upright in her saddle. How pathetic she had become, weakened by lack of rest, shade or sustenance.

It wasn't that she had hated her job as handmaiden to the girl from the beginning. On the contrary it had been fun to give this high born girl, this heir to a foreign throne, this _princess_, lessons on how to be a whore. What an eager student the girl had been, too. She had often laughed to herself in private, rejoicing at how such proud and entitled folk had come to her doorstep asking for tuition in _her_ trade, such a common trade. My, how the mighty could fall!

As she had taught the girl how to walk in a certain way, how to use her hips and voice, how to use her hands and mouth, she had taken pride in turning her from a bashful princess to a promising whore. The satisfaction she had felt as she heard the sounds coming from the khal's tent at night, or as the girl told her stories of what she had done, was worth living in tents like cattle farmers for. At first, anyway.

Then, to her surprise, she had gradually come to appreciate this girl. They had shared jokes and life stories, tears and laughter. She had watched her grow, helped her even. She had been there as she lost Drogo and gained her children, watched her overcome obstacles and handle situations with a maturity and spirit she had not expected. She had sometimes tended to her son and watched him grow at an astounding rate, the first time he had lisped her name she had laughed with true delight and swung him around in the air as he shrieked and gurgled with joy. Daenerys was more than just another spoilt high born child, she had become a woman whom Doreah had found herself having admiration as well as genuine affection for and there were points when Doreah would have gone so far as to call Daenerys a friend.

Doreah had never had many friends and she did not use the word lightly.

Yet that didn't stop her from wanting something better for herself right now. It had been far too long since she had felt comfortable and, friendship or not, she would not continue to follow a deluded girl on some fool's errand to the ends of the earth, especially when it was via this gods forsaken wasteland. If she never saw another grain of sand she would not be sorry, the blasted stuff got everywhere.

Her horse slowed and she bit down on a curse. No way would she be left behind. She kicked at its flanks weakly and was satisfied to see it respond by picking up its pace once more. Stupid thing, she wouldn't let it die here and take her with it, no way. She was a survivor and she would ensure she remained that way.

She drew her eyes once more to the horizon, braving the onslaught of sand which flew in her direction, scattering from the clumsy flight of the dragons as they flailed before her, and was shocked to make out something on the horizon. A city, it looked like. Was this Qarth?

She lowered her eyes once more and tentatively wiped away chunks of grit, scratching them slightly and wincing in pain. Cursed sand.

So they had reached the city, well that was a relief. She sighed slightly and allowed the tension in her shoulders and back to ebb away as she imagined a warm bath and food. Most of all, though, she imagined drinking water, sweet fresh water by the bottle. Her dry mouth throbbed at the thought and she tried to swallow to relieve the pressure, finding she could not summon enough spit for the task. No matter. Soon she would not have that problem, soon they would reach civilisation once more, where the creature comforts she so craved would be thrown their way if Kovarro's message of welcome were to be believed.

An hour later, just as the sun's rays were beginning to relent slightly in their unbearable heat, they reached the gates of the city. Doreah could have cried with relief, had she any water in her body to provide the tears. Her hands shook as she grasped the reigns and she waited with anticipation, watching Daenerys dismount the horse she rode and, on unsteady legs with chin held high, head towards the emissaries of Qarth who stood waiting at the imposing gate's entrance.

"We would see your dragons," the emissaries demanded loudly. Doreah could not see Daenerys' face, however she knew from the tightening of her shoulders that she would not take kindly to such a command. She was ridiculously protective of those scaled beasts she called her children.

After some deliberation which Doreah and the rest of the gathered tribe could not make out, one man stepped forward and seemed to vouch for them, pacifying the other members of the welcoming committee and indicating free passage for Daenerys and her group. She inclined her head gratefully and turned, indicating to the gathered Dothraki that they should follow her as she made to enter Qarth at the side of this stranger.

Doreah dug her heels as hard as she could into her horse's sides and drove him forward to follow Daenerys to a place where she could finally be at ease. As she caught up with her and the man who offered them his hospitality she noticed his large, dark eyes had been appraising her greedily. It was not just a quick glance of appreciation, his gaze bore into her and followed her as the horse trotted forwards. Excellent, she could work this to her advantage. From the corner of her eye she saw her khaleesi watch this with interest and she immediately lowered her gaze from the man to the ground innocently. She could feel Daenerys' eyes upon her as she rode through the bustling city but refused to turn around and meet her gaze. Let her notice how men watched her, Doreah smirked and flicked her hair over her shoulder, Daenerys may have her baby reptiles but the art of seduction was Doreah's weapon and she would not hesitate to use it when it suited her goals.

Slyly she glanced backwards over her shoulder to where the Qarth stranger stood welcoming the Dothraki into his city. He must have felt her stare and turned to face her, his pupils dilating heavily as he drank in the sight of her. He licked his voluptuous lips and she looked away coquettishly, allowing herself a small smile.

He could be her ticket to actual freedom. Or else, to an arrangement of service far more delicious in its appeals. A pleasant heat spread over her body as she imagined the dark stranger taking her to his bed as she introduced him to a whole new world of delights. Yes, he would be a definite improvement over sand and starvation.

* * *

She lounged on the feather stuffed mattress of the four poster bed in her new quarters having been bathed, fed and given water. Finally, she felt fully herself again.

As the flecks of dust shimmered in the sunlight near her window she felt her eyelids droop once exhaustion embraced her. She needed sleep, it would be the first proper rest she had had in months and her whole body screamed with the need to give in and allow unconsciousness to claim her. She was just on the cusp on a deep and peaceful slumber when she heard her door scratch the wooden floorboards of her room, jolting her wide awake, her eyes flying open as she scanned the room to see who it was that interrupted her rest.

Daenerys walked in quietly, smuggling something into Doreah's room under her cloak and glancing furtively behind to ensure she was not spotted. Irri followed her silently and closed the door as Daenerys wandered over to her, claiming her attention unapologetically with a hushed command; "Doreah, I need you to guard my dragons while we stay here."

Doreah held back a groan and sat up, her eyes adjusting to the light once more as she blinked rapidly. "Why, khaleesi?"

"I don't trust them," she held Doreah's gaze as if trying to convey things she could not speak aloud. Doreah nodded slowly as if in understanding, not caring much for the reasons at this point, she would find them out later on her own terms when he head wasn't so fuzzy.

Irri scrambled around, pulling out drawers and flinging open cupboards as if searching for something. Irritation rose up in Doreah but she strove to maintain a calm facade.

"What is she doing?" she indicated with a thrust of her chin.

Daenerys sighed, "she is looking for the best place to hide the dragons, somewhere no one would suspect."

"I see."

Daenerys hesitated for a moment, fiddling with her long locks of hair as if uncertain of how to proceed. Drogon and Viserion crawled out from under her cloak and she crooned to them for a little while as Doreah watched in silence. Rhaellath, too, crawled over from where she had been placed by Irri after being hidden under the servant's cloak. Great, she would be babysitting dragons. They stared up at her as if reading her innermost thoughts, their eyes unnerving her. She had never felt comfortable around the dragons and the idea of having them share her beautiful chambers was less than fantastic.

"I also have another favour to ask," Daenerys mumbled after a while, not meeting Doreah's eyes. She never requested things so reluctantly, never refused to make eye contact. Doreah panicked and felt goosebumps run up her arms as a thread of dread made its way through her stomach. Daenerys' tone and posture bode ill, what she needed must be unsavoury and Doreah was sick of putting her well being on the line for this ridiculous cause. Now wasn't the right time to break free from her protection under Daenerys though, so she would have to do the girl's bidding until she could cultivate connections of her own in Qarth. _Curses_.

"It is my pleasure to serve, khaleesi," she murmered obediently as her heart beat quickened in her chest, waiting to hear what it was her mistress expected of her now.

Daenerys lay her small white hand over Doreah's brown one and squeezed, a gesture of comfort which turned Doreah's insides to ice. How could she pretend concern for someone she was ordering on what could very well be an awful task? She remembered how the khaleesi had ordered her bloodriders to scout ahead for her, how she had held their gazes and sentenced them to death. Maybe such things were easy for a princess.

"I need to know the political lay of the land here," she began quietly, glancing back to make sure Irri was otherwise absorbed in her own task. "I must ask you to get close," she gave a meaningful look, "to our host Xaro Xhoan Daxos. He appears our ally, I would know his true stance. For this I ask that you use your skills and gather what information you can."

A wave of relief washed over Doreah as her mind raced to calculate the opportunities this would give her if she played her hand well.

It was not an act when she smiled winningly up at the Targaryen and agreed to this scheme. Daenerys laughed as a great weight lifted from her shoulders and Doreah watched as the girl turned to face her dragons with devotion. Doreah scowled slightly knowing she had been set aside in favour of these lizards in her regard. That was until she became useful again.

She would not forget how her 'friend' had been willing to throw her at any man which benefited her cause. Yes, this time it was an advantage, but what if it had not been? Would Daenerys still have marched her off to give away her wares in the bed of a stranger, like a lamb to slaughter, if Doreah had begged and pleaded with her not to? Yes, she had no doubt she would have. Anything for the crown she so prized. Because she was just a servant, maybe she had once been confused by this, maybe the lines had once been blurred, but now she saw clearly where they stood. Servant and mistress. Worlds apart.

Doreah cried in delight over the flaming skills of the dragons as Daenerys clapped them on with pride. All the while the cogs in her mind turned and ground as she figured out a way to carve her own path to freedom from this woman who she had called friend. Daenerys reached out and squeezed her hand again, grinning up at her with unguarded affection in her eyes.

Doreah smiled back.

* * *

The next day before she went out to explore she made sure to look her best. It was, she realised, no coincidence she had been given this room to herself. A room big enough to rival the khaleesi's. Irri had been provided with a futon at the foot of Daenerys' bed, which would no doubt have been the same given to Doreah had she not caught their host's eye upon entering the city. She would be sure to make such a gesture worth his while.

She primped and preened for an hour before the gem encrusted mirror, making sure everything was just so. She needed to catch his eye once more without him realising this was what she intended. Less was more in this case, yet she needed the less to be perfect and this took effort. By the time she was ready to go her eyes were lined with smokey paste so that when she gave a playfully flirty glance the effect would be stunning. She knew her own features well and these were her greatest assets, alongside her body. She had braided the sides of her hair up in an elegant manner and allowed the rest to cascade down her back in dark, glossy waves. There were few men who would refuse her, she knew, and it was with this assurance that she strode from her quarters and down beautiful, mosaic filled corridors to a large veranda where she could see all of Qarth beneath her.

Standing there with the wind whipping at her hair as she looked over a prosperous kingdom, she felt like a truly powerful woman with the ability to control her own destiny. Like a queen. The feeling was intoxicating and she breathed in and out slowly to calm the flow of adrenaline through her veins. She could feel the intensity of eyes as they examined her and she needed to give them something regal to look at.

"My lady," a deep, gentle voice sounded behind her and she slowly turned to meet Xaro's eyes with her own. She had hoped it were him.

"Sir," she greeted, licking her lips suggestively after speaking and quirking her eyebrow at him, inviting him to speak as if she were the superior. As if he required her permission.

He bowed low and she had to stop herself from giggling in delight like a young girl at being treated with such deference. Outwardly she regarded him with cool detachment and he smirked. "Qarth is honoured to host such fascinating and," he met her eyes boldy "_beautiful_ guests."

She gave him a slight smile and turned back to face over the balcony once more, conscious of the picture she must make as her hair and skirts danced in the fragrant orange-blossom scented breeze. "Daenerys is indeed beautiful," she returned. She would make him work harder than pretty words to win her over.

"As are you," he insisted as he moved to stand besides her, his large hands resting on the balcony as he, too, regarded the city below them.

She shrugged. "Many women are beautiful, I would hope we have something more to offer you than aesthetics," she turned as if to walk away, back into the house, and he grabbed her arm. A thrill ran through her veins as she saw the raw desire in his eyes but she kept her cool. "I must see to my mistress, sir."

He did not let her go. His eyes bore into her soul, their intensity irresistible. She held her breath for a moment as their eyes locked.

"She has others to see to her needs, surely she can spare you for a little while?" His voice was husky and sent a shiver down her skin.

"Whatever for?" she asked, pursing her lips and allowing a faint blush to tinge her cheeks.

He gripped her arm tighter and gave a feral smile, showing his perfectly white teeth which contrasted brilliantly to his smooth ebony skin. Then he pulled her forcibly towards him with a quick, powerful movement, her body tight against his, and ran his other hand down her waist, panting slightly as she let out a slight moan. She couldn't help herself, he had actually caught her by surprise with his strength and insistence.

"For this," he gave a guttural growl as he covered her mouth with his own and kissed her passionately.

She felt her whole body tingle in response and, despite her resolve to make him work far harder before allowing him to have her, she found herself kissing him back and before she knew it they were in his chamber with him clawing at her clothes, ripping them off her body hungrily and throwing them to the ground. He was rough and she liked it rough, his desperation for her was arousing and soon they were entangled in a sweaty, passionate mess. She gasped as he pleasured her and cried out as he had her time and again that glorious afternoon.

Gods he was good.

"Sweet, sweet Doreah," he whispered against her neck, his hot breath tickling her, before he fell into a satisfied sleep.

She untangled herself from his body gently, so as not to wake him, grabbed a top of his from the room since her clothes were now in tatters, and waltzed out of his room smirking uncontrollably. A whore never stayed the night for cuddles. As the servants stared at her with mouths agape she wanted to laugh, completely unconcerned that his shirt barely covered her body or that her hair was a mess or that the sweat was still drying on her skin as the cool breeze of early evening caressed her body. Their judgment meant nothing to her, they were most likely just jealous it had been her, not one of them, who their master had made scream with such pleasure.

No doubt they would be queuing up to take her place at the first chance they got.

"Bring fruit and the evening meal to my quarters," she ordered one wide eyed slave. She was starving.

"Ye-yes milady," the young girl stammered before running off to do her bidding.

My, wasn't this fun, she smirked and wrinkled her nose slightly. She could get used to having people run to do her bidding...


	14. The Girl with the Black Leather Collar

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

_ I may take more liberties with the storyline from now on, mainly because my memory of this season of GoT is fuzzy. I'll follow the broad outline but may give my own twist on events. I hope that doesn't put people off, if you have any quibbles let me know and I'll try to work on them!  
Note: This chapter takes place during the same time as the previous one, only giving Daenerys' point of view. They are tales which run simultaneously, I hope this doesn't create confusion!_

* * *

_**Chapter Eleven:  
**_The Girl with the Black Leather Collar

* * *

Daenerys' first request, upon reaching the chambers she had been allocated by their new host Xaro, was that Irri draw up a steaming hot bath for her, Rhaego and the dragons. Once they had bathed properly she would smuggle the reptiles into Doreah's rooms for safe keeping, yet for now all she wanted to do was soak away the dust and sand and trials of travel. Wash away the blood of her riders whom she had sent on an impossible mission. Wash away the last few months, truth be told, soak them out of her weary body.

Irri bustled around the chambers as Daenerys slunk onto a chair to wait for her bath to be prepared, baffled by her maid's energy.

Rhaego curled up onto her knee without a word and his eyelids fluttered as he fought off rest for just a little while longer. She ran her hands over his matted silver hair and smiled at his stubbornness. How like his father he could be she mused inwardly, her heart contracted painfully at the thought. Would he be a constant reminder of her loss with each day that passed as he grew into his features? No, she reminded herself, he would be a precious legacy. A delight.

The dragons curled up around them, their lithe bodies winding into an embrace which had become routine on the journey through the waste, being how they often chose to sleep during those chilled dessert nights when they needed more than ever to feel close to each other. They poured soothing thoughts into the young child's mind, sensing him wrestle against sleep while feeling the waves of exhaustion pouring off of his small body. As they began singing their beautiful song she smiled to see her son's lower lip start to stick out prominently, as it always did while he slept. She would wake him soon for their bath but was relieved that he were able to snatch a moment's peaceful rest, for that was more than they had had in a long while.

In the delicious coolness of their room she felt some of the weariness seep from her bones as she relaxed into the chair tentatively. She felt strangely reluctant to allow the tension to slip from her body, yet there was no need to hold onto it in this place. They were no longer within death's clutches and small things, such as the fact they had been presented with water and small portions of food upon their arrival, gave her renewed strength and energy. There would be a feast tonight in their honour she had been told, but until then the hurriedly made portions of food would sustain them all. Most of all her people were safe once more.

Yet a knot in her stomach remained. They wanted her dragons and while she were not in a position to refuse their hospitality for now, she found she could not completely relax until she had confidence that her children were safe. All of them.

_"We will be fine, mother,"_ they purred contentedly. _"It would take more than humans such as these to tear us from our family."_

This should have reassured her, but the dread remained. The minute they had bathed she would run them over to Doreah who, thankfully, had been given her very own chamber. Daenerys could relax knowing they would be protected there.

_"But mother,"_ Rhaelath sent drowsily, _"she holds no love for us."_

_"Nonsense,"_ Daenerys waved away with a fond smile. _"Of course she does, she adores you. Everyone adores you, Zaldrīzes~Ītsos."_

Rhaelath sent back nothing, keeping her thoughts silent and Daenerys assumed that she had reassured the creature. Such a strange idea, though. Doreah often showed outright affection for the young dragons, where had this come from? Rhaellath was so utterly mistaken in this matter which was unusual as the dragons were so perceptive of those around them. She shrugged, whatever had got such a thought in the dragon's head was no matter now. It was clearly ludicrous.

Surely?

The sound of sloshing water filled the room over the next half an hour as Irri worked tirelessly to prepare her mistress's bath. Where she found such vigour Daenerys did not know. She, herself, felt unable to move, her limbs like lead and her head a constant throbbing pain. It tired her just to watch her maid move so and she thanked her luck yet again that she had been blessed with such diligent and faithful handmaidens. Rhaelath was wrong about Doreah, Daenerys knew her servants well and there could never be anyone more committed. Just look at Irri, she had told the girl to relax and offered to call up one of Xaro's own house slaves, but she had refused with a set jaw, horrified that her mistress would even make such a suggestion.

"You are mine to serve," she had asserted proudly, looking up into Daenerys' eyes with such a depth of dedication it humbled her. That had been the end of the discussion.

A smile played faintly on her lips as she heard her maid humming while she worked. Daenerys had rarely had the chance as a young girl to make friends, kept at arms length from all who were seen as below her rank; which had been everyone except for her brother. Since being given her three loyal handmaidens, though, she had come to realise how much she had missed out, having been deprived of female companionship. She treasured Irri, Doreah and Jhiqui for in them she had found this friendship over the two years she had been their mistress.

When she married Drogo she had been gifted with her dragon eggs, her beloved husband and her precious friends. She did not underestimate how blessed she had been in all these things. They were and had all been a great source of strength to her.

"Mistress, your bath is ready," Irri's head popped out of the bathing chamber as she opened the door and a waft of steam danced into the room where Daenerys lounged.

She smiled tenderly at the sweat soaked girl before her.

"Please, you must now take care of yourself, dear Irri," Daenerys chided gently. "I shall summon slaves to fetch you fruit and wine as I bath, they shall then draw you your own tub of water. For now, I insist you rest." She picked up and shook a brass tube which contained a small bell that hit the inside walls loudly, this was how she had been shown to summon slaves. The ringing sounded harsh to her ears and in his sleep Rhaego stirred uncomfortably.

A young girl, possibly six or seven in years, scurried nervously into the chamber within seconds, the bells on her ankles and wrists chiming melodiously.

"Yes, mistress?" she lisped, staring at the floor unwaveringly.

Daenerys and Irri stood staring, taken aback by her tender years.

"You are a slave her, child?" Daenerys asked hesitantly after a moment. As if the large black collar around her tiny neck did not tell her all she needed to know.

"Yes, mistress. Is something wrong?" Although the child still refused to make eye contact, Daenerys could see the whites of her eyes grow bigger in fear.

Daenerys bit down on what she wanted to say, almost choking on the anger which welled up inside her. She had not been sheltered enough to think that slavery did not exist, but looking at this young girl and her large leather collar something inside her raged.

"No," she managed sharply, her tone causing the girl to flinch. This merely elicited more anger as she noticed the girl's skinny arms tremble. "What is your name?" she asked, this time making sure her voice was gentle.

The girl bit her lip and her shoulders tensed. Daenerys imagined she would bolt if she could, but fear rooted her to the spot.

"Nagis," she squeaked.

"Come here, Nagis," Daenerys held a hand out to the girl, who finally looked up and trembled uncontrollably upon seeing the dragons, who had roused at this exchange and regarded the child with interest.

Slowly the girl approached, not taking her eyes off the dragons for a moment.

_"Mother, may I?"_ Viserion asked, sensing the girl's fear but unable to thought-send comforting images to her unfamiliar mind.

_"Be gentle,"_ Daenerys replied, nodding her head a fraction in permission.

Viserion, the most confident in gliding as well as the most accident prone, flapped his paperthin wings, causing a small gust to wake Rhaego, and flew clumsily towards the girl's tiny shoulder intending to perch. He missed and crashed into her elbow, bouncing off gloriously and landing in a heap on the floor at her side. She had thrown her tiny arms up in protection as she saw him fly in her direction and let out the tiniest of whimpers as he impacted with her, only to stare down at his tangle of wings and limbs at her feet in silence.

A silence only broken by a chuckle from Rhaego, whose dimpled smile showed utter delight at waking to such a scene. He loved watching Viserion's spectacular flying failures.

"Viserion silly," he cried, looking up at the girl with his large eyes and giving her his widest, most alluring of smiles. She blinked at him in shock, certain it could not be a smile intended for her.

Daenerys set Rhaego down and stood awkwardly, her muscles protesting at being used once again after their rest, seeing that her dragon's attempt to calm the girl had only made the situation worse. If more amusing, she smothered a grin.

She walked over to the girl and stooped down, righting poor Viserion gently and holding her arm down so he could climb back to perch with his siblings. The girl watched this in fascinated silence, her dark eyes wide.

"There is nothing to fear from my children Nagis," Daenerys spoke softly as she lay a gentle hand on the girl's head. The girl flinched again and looked down, Daenerys felt sick wondering what had made this young girl so fearful of even the lightest of touch.

_"Can I try again?"_ Viserion asked eagerly, shaking off his wings and sending pleading thoughts to Daenerys hating that he failed so dramatically first time around.

_"One moment,"_ she tapped his nose gently and smiled. _"Let's allow Rhaego to try."_

Viserion grumbled slightly but they all watched as Rhaego toddled up to the girl, with his dimpled smile lighting his features, and wrapped his hand around the trailing material of her tunic.

"Play?" he pleaded, causing her to meet his eyes. Her nose wrinkled as she relaxed and gave him a genuine smile, before looking warily back to Daenerys, uncertainty dancing in her eyes.

"It would please me greatly if you were to play with my son," she encouraged, bringing a self conscious smile to the girl's face. "Only we must bathe now, sweet child, so could you wait until later?"

The girl nodded numbly, unable to believe what she was hearing. "Of course, mistress."

Rhaego pouted and gripped her tunic with a stronger grip, bunching the material in his chubby fist. "She too."

Daenerys smiled and knelt down to eye level with her son. "She cannot bathe with us, my darling. Our water is too hot."

He jutted out his chin and frowned. She kept eye contact and shook her head slowly until he relaxed his frown, giving her a pleading look before asking "Play _soon_?"

"Yes, I promise," she smiled and pried her son away from the girl slowly, shepherding him towards the steam emanating from their bathing chambers. Rhaego turned around before he was engulfed in steam and held up his little hand to wave at his new friend, who smiled shyly and waved back.

As they entered the room and the hot condensation brought a sheen of sweat to her skin, she closed the door softly. Before it shut she heard the kind voice of Irri as she asked the girl to stay with her for a little while and share a drink of honeyed pomegranate juice, which they could fetch together from the kitchens.

Daenerys inhaled the steam happily, feeling it sooth the back of her throat and placed the dragons into the tub, grinning at their hisses of bliss as the boiling water lapped up their scales. She then tentatively peeled off the layers of clothes which had been so long worn that they had nearly fused to her skin and allowed the steam to caress her naked skin, bringing goosebumps up her arms. She sighed with pleasure.

"Hel-p," Rhaego pleaded as he waved his arms in distress. He had tried to remove his own top and got as far as bringing it to his head before he toppled onto the floor, his clothes covering his eyes as he flailed helplessly.

"Here," she bent down and helped him. He blinked as the garment's removal brought a shower of sand and grit down over his head and coughed. "Eww," he spat out grains of red and grimaced curiously as they mixed with the water on the floor to create a gritty paste, which he swirled around with one chubby finger happily for a moment.

The dragons hung over the side of the tin tub and shared feelings of mirth between each other as they watched their brother's antics. Daenerys had to admit, he was funny and adorable when plastered in sand. She rubbed off the worst of it as he concentrated on the gloop he was creating, and swooped him up into her arms in a graceful movement. He wriggled slightly and made himself comfortable against her, sighing with joy as she stepped into the water and lowered them both into the invigorating heat.

_"Brother, look sharp,"_ Drogon sent with a mischievous undertone before splashing water with his tail and soaking the young boy's hair.

_"Dro!"_ he sent back, spluttering and blinking the rivulets of water out of his eyes as they ran down his face, bringing fresh sand and dirt with them in streaks. _"Take this!"_ he splashed back clumsily, missing Drogon and succeeding only in soaking himself and Daenerys.

They spent the next hour working the dirt and sand out of their hair, eyes and scales. When they were finished the water was a murky red with clumps of dirt floating around, but it had served its purpose for they were now clean. Rhaego's pale face positively glowed, his cheeks red with the heat and his hair glossy once more, he looked unrecognisable from the the filthy child she had cuddled on her knee an hour before. Daenerys was certain she must look equally different, she certainly felt it. The dragons, too, shone far brighter and seemed far chirpier than before. All in all she felt refreshed and ready to sleep until the feast, however there was one thing she and Irri had to do first.

She wrung her long hair out as she stepped out of the tub and squeezed the worst of the water from it before dropping it to hang down her back. It would dry naturally. She then picked out Rhaego and the dragons and called to Irri to stoke the fire so they could drip dry in front of it, as she often had as a girl in Pentos. She had always loved those hours sitting before the fire as the heat of the flames licked her skin gently and dried her long locks of hair slowly. Often she had watched the flickers of the flames and day dream of an alternate life when Rhaegar had taken his rightful throne and the uprising had failed. In her mind's eye she had sculpted faces for the characters, for the _family_, she had heard so much about yet never seen. In the firelight anything seemed had possible as it warmed her to her very soul.

Now she didn't need firelit dreams, she had a real family who she loved fiercely. Dreams were for children, she had replaced them with schemes which no one would be able to extinguish.

As she walked out holding her children to the room with the large open fire and settled in a close proximity to the flames, Nagis stared open mouthed at the woman's naked body.

"What's wrong?" She heard Irri ask curiously.

"I...have never seen a naked lady before," Nagis blushed as if with shame and averted her eyes Daenerys and Rhaego.

Irri chuckled. "There is nothing to fear in the human body, little one."

"Fetch me a robe, please Irri?" Daenerys asked. "I would not make our friend uncomfortable."

"As you wish," Irri shrugged, smirking. She went to find a light robe from the collection of clothes which had been offered to Daenerys as an honoured guest and took it over to her mistress, caressing the sheer material between finger and thumb and humming appreciatively. "A beautiful gown, khaleesi."

Daenerys smiled her thanks and took the garment from the girl's hands, wrapping it swiftly around her shoulders and covering her still damp body. "Is this more acceptable for Qarth?" she asked the girl, shrugging into the sleeves and savouring the feeling of silk against her skin.

"It is, mistress," she nodded, finally daring to look up once more.

"Irri, would you like to bath before we take the dragons?" Daenerys wondered. "As you will need fresh water, we were filthy" she gave a small shrug and smiled wryly by way of the apology it would never be appropriate for her to give. Not over such a small thing, at least.

"I will sort that, don't worry," Irri grinned and hurried to prepare a tub for herself cheerfully, turning back to wink at Nagis, who squirmed and beamed down into her chalice of pomegranate juice.

Daenerys went over to pour herself a drink and invited the girl to sit at the fire with her, where the pleasant warmth combated the sudden chill of evening. Nagis hurried up to snatch a tub of lotion before complying, sitting behind Daenerys and silently working handfuls of the coconut-scented lotion through her damp hair, massaging gently as she went, all the while watching Rhaego play with the dragons happily. His loose ringlets dried slowly and the droplets of water on his pale skin glistened in the firelight. The dragons also glistened and Daenerys could see why they made such an incredible picture to those who had never seen anything like them before, they even looked like a product of fantasy to her and she was their mother. It may be too much to say she had grown used to them with their unnatural, strange beauty, but she should certainly have become acclimatised to the vision of the four of them playing by now, yet sometimes even that took her breath away.

Rhaego turned for a moment and noticed Nagis watching him. She looked away quickly, horrified that she had been caught staring, especially since he wore no clothes. Rhaego fell to his knees and crawled quickly over to her, tugging insistently at her wrist and dragging her over to the dragons happily. She turned to look to Daenerys, her eyes seeking permission, and the woman grasped her sticky hands kindly before nodded and smiled encouragingly.

"Thank you for this," she indicated her hair gratefully, "now go play. It's okay Nagis, the dragons won't hurt you."

A slow smile formed across the tiny girl's features as she wiped her hands down her tunic, and she and Rhaego played with the dragons under Daenerys' watchful gaze while Irri bathed. This was a joy of childhood Daenerys had longed to see, watching him play with another human child as if he didn't have a care in the world. As if he were just any normal child. A joy she had never been given.

"Look, 'Gis, me run!" he cried as he bolted from his spot by the fire towards the heavy cedar dining table, shrieking wildly and spreading his arms as the dragons did their wings. He made it three large, fast steps before falling to the ground in an undignified pile of limbs, giggling as the girl ran over and frantically checked he was okay.

"Lord Rhaego!" Nagis patted his hair soothingly but he wriggled out of her arms impatiently and toddled back towards the fire, sharing thoughts with the dragons who laughed at the fact he ran like Viserion flew. Nagis walked back over to them, slightly shaken from the boy's fall, returning to play patiently with them once more. She had a good way with her son and the dragons, Daenerys noted to her delight.

Once Irri was done and dried herself with a cloth, as was her habit, they both got dressed into functional clothes for walking around the villa. Daenerys scooped up Drogon and Viserion, telling them to cling to her as she threw a cloak over them and Irri did the same with Rhaellath.

_"We must take you where you will be safe,"_ she sent regretfully. _"I will bring Rhaego to see you, I promise."_

"Muña?" Rhaego cried, rushing over to them and gazing up with anxious eyes. His lower lip wobbled as he reached out for the dragons with his mind, _"don't leave me!"_

_"We will be here, little brother," _they replied. _"Don't worry."_

Daenerys looked away from her son, her heart tightening painfully under his gaze.

"We'll go to see them tomorrow, Rhaego," she comforted him with flat words. "This is for their safety."

"Quba," he scrunched up his little fists and scowled. "Quba! Quba!"

Nagis walked up to him and put her tiny arm around his little shoulders, making shushing noises and trying fruitlessly to calm him.

Daenerys left him in the hands of the slave girl as she slipped through the door to their chambers followed by Irri, tearing through the halls of the villa with the tiny pinpricks of her dragon's claws nipping into her skin as they grabbed onto her under the heavy cloak. She could still hear the wailing of her son and the soothing noises of the slave girl echoing in her mind as they reached Doreah's impressive chambers.


	15. Setting in Motion

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

_ I may take more liberties with the storyline from now on, mainly because my memory of this season of GoT is fuzzy. I'll follow the broad outline but may give my own twist on events. I hope that doesn't put people off, if you have any quibbles let me know and I'll try to work on them!_

_**Note:** I wrote a mini aside chapter for Doreah but its smut and not super important so I wanted to post it but keep it clear of the main story. It may explain a little from her point of view, but its pretty explicit and definitely deserved its M rating so please don't read it unless you're over eighteen! I just wanted to let you know that it would chronologically fit between the last chapter and this one._

* * *

_**Chapter Thirteen:  
**_Setting in Motion

* * *

"Tomorrow I have a special reception planned to celebrate your arrival, your highness," Xaro gave a self-satisfied smile, his teeth gleaming in the soft light.

Daenerys inclined her head a fraction and set her own face into a smile. "How very generous, you are certainly a wonderful host," she spread her hands to indicate the lavish table filled to bursting with all manner of delicious foods before her.

"This? This is nothing compared to what I can provide, highness," he boasted and laughed heartily, sending a few fragments of spittle flying across to land on the fruit bowl before her. She paid them no attention and plucked a grape from its stem between thumb and forefinger, dropping it and catching it between her teeth as she reclined on one arm. As they ate her eyes roamed subtly around the small gathering, noting everyone's body language with interest.

Rhaego sat cross legged and said nothing as he tore the flesh from the tender duck's legs happily, sending cheerful smiles across the room to Nagis who stood by, ready to refill any food or drink at a moment's notice. The other slaves stood around them, silent and watchful as they offered up fresh platters of fragrant culinary delights with downcast eyes. Irri stood alongside them, unmoving as stone. Doreah, however, reclined on her own chaise longue, helping herself to all manner of delicacies and keeping her eyes demurely lowered, blushing slightly under the intense gaze of their host. Daenerys hid a smile, noting how Xaro could hardly tear his eyes from her, licking his lips as he undressed her with his mind, almost salivating as she licked juice from tender meat or sighed in appreciation at some food or other. It was always with a reluctant and dutiful expression that he turned his attention back to her and for this heavy distraction she was grateful as she preferred to observe than to be drawn into more stilted small talk. She learned more that way.

Doreah was playing her part well, she thought with pride. She truly was an asset.

"I thought I would invite Pyat Pree, a renowned practitioner of magic," he interrupted her reverie, focusing upon Daenerys once more with determined politeness. Yet he couldn't prevent his eyes flitting between her face and the now attentive gaze of her maidservant. He was a man truly smitten and she felt a bubble of elation rise, imagining how she could use this situation to her advantage further down the line. It would not just provide protection for their group, it could present opportunity.

"How interesting," she clapped her hands and smiled, her lavender eyes intense on his, trying to gauge him. She felt in her bones he could not be trusted, yet how far could they use him regardless? "What sort of magic?"

"He is a Warlock, the greatest in Qarth," he beamed. Rhaego glanced up, his attention captured, sitting forward eagerly with a face that radiated excitement at the very mention of magic.

"I have never met a Warlock," Daenerys mused aloud, half to herself.

"Magic!" Rhaego cried out, grinning with elation and starting to bounce in his seat. In his fever he accidentally knocked several platters to the floor around him and made a huge mess as fruit rolled through the juice of the meat dishes and splattered greasy liquid across the pearlescent marble floor. Nagis, as the youngest and least senior servant, bolted over to clean it up but Rhaego was too caught up in his moment, completely oblivious to the havoc he was creating, to even acknowledge his new friend as she fell to her knees and scrubbed at the tiles frantically, hoping to prevent the stains from sticking. She knew the punishment if she did not succeed and her tiny face drained of all colour, feeling the gaze of the other slaves who were just relieved it was her, not them, who was responsible for the menial cleaning tasks. In her mind she could already feel the lick of the whip against her flesh and she strove to scrub harder, a sweat building on her forehead.

"Rhaego!" Daenerys admonished, standing up carefully and directing his attention to the floor where Nagis cleaned. He froze and turned his huge, earnest eyes towards her, confused by her reaction to his outburst. "Nagis, stop," she said softly, kneeling at the edge of the splatter and beckoning her wide-eyed son down from his couch sternly. Nagis gave her a terrified look and carried on scrubbing uncertainly. "No, stop," she placed a hand on the girl's shoulder insistently. "Rhaego made the mess, he can be the one to clean it."

"We don't have slaves so that princes can scrub floors, khaleesi," Xaro spluttered in outrage.

"As Royalty we don't make a mess we cannot correct, Xaro," she returned flatly. She held a hand out to her son and he flopped off of his chair and stepped towards her. "Hand him the rag, Nagis," Daenerys ordered. "Now, please."

Biting her lower lip, caught between what she knew her master would want and the direct order of a Queen, she placed the red stained, soaking wet cloth into the prince's small hand and bowed low.

Daenerys placed her hands around her son's tiny ones and helped him squeeze the juice into the small pan. He giggled, feeling its soggy, squishy mess run through his fingers. She smiled and directed him with mopping up the rest of the mess as slave and master alike watched the Queen showed her young Prince how to mop the floor on hands and knees in awed silence.

"Thank you, Nagis," she said, handing the cloth and pan back to her once their task was done.

Rhaego grinned up at her, his pure white tunic drenched at the knees and spotted elsewhere with juice and pulp, his hands stained a dark red. His hair fell in silver straggles across his flushed face and his eyes shone, he had thoroughly enjoyed this game of floor scrubbing. "Tanks," he copied his mother in a show of gratitude. "Play again?"

"Next time there's a spill we can play again," Daenerys ruffled his mussed up hair affectionately.

Nagis blushed bright red from the roots of her hair. "N-no, thank you," she piped up nervously. Xaro glared darkly at her and she shuddered, a detail which did not go unnoticed by Daenerys.

She turned to Xaro and beamed. "I would very much like to thank you, too, for this wonderful and diligent slave," she placed a hand protectively on the girl's head and locked Xaro into a meaningful stare. "She has been a delight during our stay so far, I hope we continue to get the pleasure of her service."

"She has?" he asked, narrowing his dark eyes.

"She has."

He shrugged. "I had never noticed her to be particularly...adept, myself."

Doreah, sensing the tension in the room building slightly upon these words, leaned forward and intervened. "Each to their own, I suppose," she noted lightly. "Speaking of which, I would very much love some more olives," she turned to Xaro with a winning smile, "Daenerys may hate their taste, but I find myself very much taken with their bursting flavour."

He gave her a wide, indulgent smile and raised his hands to clap twice. "Olives," he demanded and a small platter was almost instantly presented.

_Thank you,_ Daenerys mouthed as she caught Doreah's eye for a moment. Her maidservant just grinned and flicked her hair back over her shoulder, quickly turning her attention back to something Xaro was saying.

For the rest of the meal, as Xaro and Doreah became wrapped up in their own private bubble, Daenerys and Rhaego were left to their own devices, even summoning Irri over much to her delight. The smell of roasted duck had danced around her for far too long and she tucked in with enthusiasm, smiling at her khaleesi gratefully as juice dribbled down her chin. They also invited Nagis to join them, which she did after a small hesitation, nibbling tentatively at the pomegranate seeds in the bowl Rhaego thrust toward her. Some of the other slaves tutted in disdain and Xaro scowled briefly at the sight of his food being fed to a slave girl, before being once more distracted by the lovely Doreah.

"Yum," Rhaego commented, shoveling handfuls of the juicy fruit pips into his mouth happily, unconcerned by the ones which missed and fell to the ground.

"Yum," Nagis agreed with a huge smile, finally daring to relax once Xaro paid them no heed.

* * *

"You're ready for what the next weeks hold, sweet one?" Xaro asked later that night as they lay together in his chambers.

"Yes, my Lord."

His eyes shine in the glow of the lamplight and he pulled her in for a kiss. "One more night," he whispered against her soft hair. "One more night until our plans can begin to come to fruition."

She settled her head in the crook of his neck and smiled. "One more night," she repeated in awe, unable to believe it. One more night and she would set into motion the scheme which would carve her own way to greatness; her destiny. "All is set with Pree?" she double checked, knowing it was as they had been over each minute detail many times.

"Of course," a chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Then I should get back to my own chambers," she picked herself off him almost reluctantly. Just as she were about to shrug into a gown and leave he reached out an arm to stop her.

"Must you?" he implored, his voice gruff but his eyes soft.

She wanted to stay, gods she wanted to. But there was too much at stake and this was important, it wouldn't do to leave the dragons untended and risk Daenerys' suspicion about her loyalties. "Soon I shall stay the night," she grinned slowly and winked. A thrill ran over her at the sight of his genuine joy at the prospect, seeing his eyes light up and his teeth gleam white as he gave her a wide, delighted smile.

"Until 'soon', then," he drew her close and kissed her forehead gently before releasing her, sending a wave of flutters to her stomach. She turned and walked out swiftly, knowing if she didn't leave then she never would.

If all went according to plan it wouldn't be long now until she held formidable power. With the help of her lover and this warlock she had created a scheme to overpower all nations, starting with Qarth, and all they needed was the boy and his dragons; with their power they would be unstoppable.

Pyat Pree had felt their potential, it was to him she would deliver them.

Tomorrow would begin her journey to a life she had dreamed of.

* * *

Daenerys was waiting outside Doreah's chambers, Rhaego and Irri in tow. "Oh good, you're here" she gushed, rushing over to embrace her.

"Yes, mistress," she replied, returning the embrace enthusiastically. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Not long," Daenerys waved away her maid's concern and smiled fully. "Rhaego misses his dragons, though. As do I," she shrugged ruefully and Doreah opened the door for them to enter, laughing as Rhaego charged in on unsteady feet and, when he tumbled over, settled for crawling towards the bed where they were draped instead. Upon seeing them he shrieked with joy and she couldn't contain a genuine smile as it broke out on her face. She was undeniably fond of little Rhaego. She set her jaw, resolved not to dwell on such painful thoughts and focused instead on Daenerys.

"Rhae, Dro, Viss!" she heard him cry in delight and turned briefly to see them crooning back at him, flapping their paperthin wings and landing scattered on the floor.

"He isn't the same when they are separated," Daenerys confided sadly. "It's like he wilts. I hate this."

"I think you can trust Xaro, mistress," Doreah ventured slowly, hoping to sew some seeds that would be helpful but instead fighting shock when Daenerys pierced her with a gaze she was not used to.

"You do?" she probed. Her jaw clenched as she examined the woman before her, uncertainty warring in her eyes. Doreah forced herself to meet the gaze and nodded slowly.

"I disagree," Irri chipped in. "He clearly has his own agenda, surely you can see that?"

"I didn't place you close to him so your judgement could grow clouded," Daenerys murmured thoughtfully. "Maybe this arrangement is not wise. Stop entertaining him Doreah, I shall find other ways to read him."

Panic rose in her but was quickly stifled, what a fool she had been to say anything at all. "Mistress, I am winning his confidence and stopping now would only create suspicion," she ventured. She had taken a demure tone and prayed no one heard how her heart beat rapidly in her chest; she could not be thwarted now but there may be complications if she no longer appeared to be working under Daenerys' orders getting close to their host. "I humbly ask you allow me to continue. For you."

Irri frowned and searched her face, suspiciously. Doreah gave nothing away.

"No," Daenerys spoke after a moment of thought, her tone final.

_Curses!_ Doreah remained neutral and inclined her head. No matter, they would just have to work around this setback.

Daenerys turned her attention to the dragons, summoning Drogon over for some more lessons on fire breathing, and Doreah was forgotten. She watched and exclaimed with false enthusiasm as the putrid breath of the reptile reached her nostrils with each puff of attempted flame, and in her mind she churned her way through this new situation. At this point it did not make too much difference, truth be told, for the villa was big enough to sneak around in for secret trysts and rendezvous. Plus it wouldn't be long now until she showed the cards in her hand and from that point she didn't need the discarded Queen's approval or support.

She was so close now, the very thought was intoxicating and she smirked to herself.

"Dracarys," Rhaego lisped as he ran a chubby hand down the small creature's scaled back, caressing the scales fearlessly as they glinted in the day's light. Drogon gave a full, yet small, flame and the boy squealed in delight, covering his mouth with both hands and wrinkling his nose as he babbled happily in High Valyrian.

"They respond to him so readily," Irri shook her head in awe and smiled at the child fondly. "He really is something special."

"Yes, he is." Daenerys gained a far away look and they spent the evening in Doreah's chambers painstakingly practicing the dragons' fire breathing technique. Doreah barely noticed an improvement, yet this didn't stem the exultation of the others when even a flicker of flame was managed.

It wasn't long before the dragons were tired out, curling up to sleep around Rhaego who had flopped by the fire not long before, his boundless energy spent.

"My children," Daenerys spoke reverently as her eyes drank in the picture.

"They are beautiful indeed, mistress," Doreah offered as Irri brought chairs to them so they could be seated by the fire and drink wine into the night.

"I must protect them," her eyes hardened and Doreah had to fight to keep her features neutral.

"Surely they are safe here?" she asked innocently as they lowered themselves into the cushioned arm chairs.

"Safe?" Daenerys laughed bitterly to herself. "Until I have destroyed my enemies and ground their dust into the dirt, there is no where on this earth they will be safe."

Irri passed them both spiced wine and the three of them sipped in silence for a while, watching the flames dance around the fire wood lazily.

_How right you are, khaleesi. _She watched the rise and fall of Rhaego's small chest as he slumbered, completely unaware of the fate she was weaving for him, even now. Her heart grew heavy, clenching as he stirred and a smile flitted over his beautiful features, features she was so used to now that she could picture them in her sleep. _What a shame, he really is a delightful child._

* * *

Pyat Pree meditated in his sparse quarters, his wrinkled features lax in peace as he reached out in his mind for the magic trails which had so recently become accessible to him. He could sense a greater power just on the edge of his mind's reach, taunting him, and felt the potential which such power could create tingle in his bones. He shivered and concentrated instead on the strands at his disposal, weaving them into a pattern and feeling the answering flicker of the flame as it sparked anew, dancing before him and breaking through the feeble barrier of his closed eyelids to create ghostly patterns which fluttered across his retina.

He opened his eyes and regarded the candle before him, previously unlit yet now sporting a strong flame. A flame he had lit with magic.

He closed his eyes once more and focused on the same strands of magic as before. The room became dark again, the flame extinguished, and he opened his eyes and blinked as he adjusted to the sudden lack of stimulation, humming softly to himself.

As a boy he had been gifted to the mysterious House of the Undying, a tribute to a dwindling guild to learn of glories in days past. Dedicating his life to the pursuit of magic, he had dreamed of a day when such power would flow through the veins of those so gifted, as it had long ago. Yet as the years turned to decades he had seen that the power of men could be just as intoxicating as that of sorcery, just as effective at pushing his agenda. He threw himself into gaining the token position, as a representative of the Warlocks, on the Thirteen and slowly began to forget about his dreams of magic, buried under the interests of man.

Until recently.

In the past moon-cycles magic, the likes of which had not been felt since his great ancestors, had come within his grasp. Most noticeably magic relating to the element of fire, although other magic was becoming easier to reach out for too since the arrival of Daenerys and her children in Qarth. He had felt it, the chasm between this world and the magical realms tearing apart upon the birth of the child and dragons, and each day since he had grown in his powers. He could sometimes reach out to far lands with his mind and he felt the same awakening everywhere, although what it would mean was as yet uncertain. White walkers drew power, those with the sight flexed their muscles, men touched by gods were sprouting up once more and the Warlocks of Qarth, spurned for generations as eccentric fools, were coming into their own at last.

So he practiced, honing his skills in the repetition of simple tasks, expanding his range day by day. However, he knew that as long as he did not possess the dragons and the child in his grasp sorcery of the most powerful varieties would remain illusive, dancing outside his grasp for all eternity.

Unacceptable.

He opened his eyes and, at that moment, brought to life every candle in his room, basking in the light of one hundred flickering flames and allowing himself a small, crooked smile.

Magic was now his, and so too would be the tools to make him the greatest warlock in the history of Qarth.


	16. Stealing From Dragons

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

_**Note:** I may take more liberties with the story line from now on, mainly because my memory of this season of GoT is fuzzy. I'll follow the broad outline but may give my own twist on events. I hope that doesn't put people off, if you have any quibbles let me know and I'll try to work on them!  
_

* * *

_**Chapter Fourteen:  
**_Stealing From Dragons

* * *

Rhaego tossed and turned in disturbed sleep, seeing candle flames flickering inside his eyelids as vividly as if he were looking directly into them. A shiver ran up his spine and he woke, breathing heavily and reaching out in his mind for his dragons.

_"I fear this presence,"_ he confided, the thought sending muddled with the images which danced across his mind and plagued him. A man, wrinkled and old, his shrewd eyes outlined in khol.

_"We have felt this too, brother,"_ they sent back, disgust mingled deeply with fear in their minds. _"He desires our power, our magic. He shall be destroyed."_

_"Yes, he must,"_ Rhaego agreed, placing his small thumb into his mouth and gently sucking on it for comfort.

_"It will be okay, sweet Rhaego."_ Rhaellath flooded the boy's mind with soothing thoughts and sent him back to sleep, his features relaxing once more as she settled herself against his arm. As his chest rose and lowered gently she watched him, her eyes fiercely protective of their human, his heart beat flickering faintly across his arms lulled her into a state of drowsiness and she slowly felt her eyes drift shut.

_"Will it?"_ Viserion challenged once their brother was peaceful in slumber.

_"What kind of a question is that?"_ Drogon demanded with contempt._ "We are dragons, no man can possess us like cattle."_

_"You forget that we are young, vulnerable."_

_"We are dragons, that is all that matters."_

Rhaellath stirred reluctantly and snorted a swirl of smoke. _"It is tragic when our glorious species must concern itself with some puny magician. Peace, Viserion, we shall smite down any small minded anthropoid who crosses us. Man may have forgotten our glory and power, but we shall not."_

_"I just think we should be careful,"_ he shook out his tail and curled into a more comfortable position closer to the dwindling fire.

_"And we shall. We must guard ourselves and our brother with vigilance, but we shall not worry on it more tonight. We are safe here, at the side of our great mother."_

Drogon gave a snort of approval and the dragons fell once more into a contented sleep, dreaming of their former lives as they flew across the sky in great number, glinting in the sun like precious stones; the majestic lords of the three realms.

* * *

Daenerys stirred as the first light of morning bathed her face gently. They had fallen asleep in Doreah's chambers, lounging in chairs and drinking spiced wine. She stretched and felt a crack as her spine untangled the stiffness of the night, she then proceeded to crack her neck and shoulders, sighing with relief as the tension was released. As she stood up and went to the large cedar doors to order fruit and pastries for their breakfast she yawned, waking up her three hungry dragons and smiling as they crawled over each other sleepily, reaching out to her with their minds and begging for meat.

_"Of course, my children,"_ she reassured them as she sent Nagis, whose eyes were also still blurry from sleep, straight to the kitchens with their food order.

Doreah and Irri woke upon Nagis' return and the child lay down platters of chilled fruit and warm, freshly baked pastries before them all. At the smell of the pastries stomachs grumbled and Rhaego moaned in his sleep, turning over and drooling down one side of his mouth.

The meat was then presented to the dragons in a bowl of burnished silver and as they crowded the thick, dark red chunks before them their thought sendings grew louder in excitement, waking Rhaego fully with a roaring appetite and unnaturally strong craving for meat.

"Food?" he rubbed at his heavy eye lids and rose groggily.

"Yes, zaldrīzes itsos," she hummed as she bent to swoop him into her arms, making him squealed happily as she swung him around as if he were flying. "Meat and pastries and fruit, eat up my prince."

Doreah began helping herself to a mouthwatering selection of pastries and Irri followed suit, motioning to little Nagis to join them. Nagis looked around the room, as if worried someone may be watching, ready to pounce upon her for such an indulgence, but seeing no-one save themselves she perched on a chair and picked up two pieces of pastry cake and a handful of grapes, nibbling at them slowly and bursting into a smile as the juice exploded from its skin in her mouth.

Daenerys watched the girl and smiled fondly, deciding she would purchase her before leaving Qarth to take with them. She would make an excellent help with Rhaego and the dragons, all of whom favoured her greatly.

Drogon and Viserion vied against each other as each tried to flame their meat better than the other, and Rhaellath exchanged amused thoughts with Daenerys over the male dragons' antics as she meticulously cooked her own slab of meat through before nibbling at it calmly.

_"Men,"_ Rhaellath despaired indulgently over her brothers.

_"Indeed!"_ Daenerys returned, hiding a smile as the two smaller dragons continued, oblivious to the thought sendings flying over their heads.

Breakfast was all in all a very pleasant affair, over all too quickly as Daenerys, Irri, Nagis and Rhaego soon left for their own chambers.

Rhaego, distraught upon leaving his dragons once more, wailed and had to be carried all the way back to their rooms as Nagis trailed sympathetically along behind them, desperate to cheer up the troubled prince but not having a clue how to do so. Daenerys merely set her jaw and held tight to the squirming, thrashing bundle in her arms, resolved that they would not spend more time than necessary in this city where she felt her dragons were in constant danger.

* * *

Pyat Pree had spent the whole morning seeing to the final details of their plans and his stomach clenched now as the litter arrived at his door, indicating that it was finally time.

He would soon be meeting this legend so recently born, this son of fire, the child Rhaego, which excited him greatly for he had so many uses in mind for the one whom magic spilled from so freely. Yet, as fascinating as the boy was, even he could not compare to these creatures buried in the depths of folklore for centuries, rumoured to be smarter than humans and possess the genetic memory of their ancestors; the dragons.

The dull throb in his frontal lobe, the spot which he used when weaving magic, tingled uncontrollably now as he inhaled slowly and was handed up into the litter, stepping cautiously on the hunched backs of the foetal slaves curled up in the dust at his feet.

"Quickly now," he rasped, his voice papyrus thin after years of incantations yet still clearly enunciated at every syllable. "I have a meeting with a Queen."

With a clumsy lurching motion the litter was set into place on the shoulders of four large slaves, jostling the Warlock gently as it made its way slowly winding through the busy streets towards Xaro's villa on the hill. With each bump and sway of the long journey Pree's heart clenched, knowing he was making his way towards a glorious destiny.

He felt the looming presence of the dragons and the boy pressing in on his mind, stronger with each step covered. They were indeed all he had hoped, more powerful than anything he had ever imagined. He felt his frail hands tremble slightly as the sensation flowed through him, they very air thrumming with their power and his head crawling with their loud, vibrant thoughts. He could not hear them, they were muffled from his mind, but he could feel them and he called his litter to a jerky halt, suddenly unsure whether he could handle such bombardment, the power they exuded overwhelming him.

He focused his mind and cleared it of their presence, blocking them out until he could handle such intensity. Slightly shaken, he ordered the litter to march forward once again. His hands had not stilled, his heart beat faster and for the first time he worried that maybe, just maybe, they had underestimated these creatures. It was not too late to back out of the plan, although he knew with certainty that Xaro would order him killed if he disappointed.

Maybe there were fates worse than death.

No. He could not turn back from the path laid before him. It was his destiny, he told himself sternly, quietening his frantic heart beat and taking deliberate slow, deep breaths. Maybe there were things worth risking all for, the kind of power just at his fingertips was one of them. Dragons and princes be damned, maybe they were stronger than anticipated but he was a Warlock and all would soon bend to his will. No fledgling man or beast could stand up to him, his pride reared up fiercely. Power was his for the taking, were he just to reach out.

He laughed a thin, nervous laugh and smoothed down the off white tunic with trembling hands.

Reaching out curiously once more with his mind he flinched and recoiled swiftly, fleeing the debilitating pressure on his mind as their power closed in on him again. He would have to train himself to overpower them, he knew, and this may take a great amount of time for they really were strong. That just made him more determined to succeed and prove his own mastery of magic, he thought, relishing the calm as he rubbed at his tender temples with long, tapered fingers. Shutting them out completely was wise for now, soon he would be strong enough to let their power pour into his soul.

As he inched closer to the villa his ability to block out the presence of the dragons and boy grew increasingly difficult, his head pounding with the effort. He grimaced and set his focus once more, fighting the desire to run away back to the safety and seclusion of his rooms in the Halls of the Undying.

"We are here, master," the slave announced after a short while.

He grunted in response and the door was opened for him, slaves rushing once more to curl in the dust so he could alight, his balance steadied by the arm of another slave as he stepped upon the spine of this prostrated wretch. They were so well trained that even as he pressed his full weight upon their bones they did not let out even the faintest of whimpers. He smiled wryly, he would have to ensure his own slaves became as malleable somehow, for it was never pleasing to hear the groans of humanity from under one's feet. He ground his heel into the protruding spine to see how far this slave would remain passive, and was pleasantly surprised to find not even a flinch from the boy.

"Hm," he murmured to himself as he stepped down from the youth's back. "I must compliment Xaro on his slaves."

He was greeted by the housekeeper, her expression neutral as she welcomed him into the villa and indicated a sofa for him to make himself comfortable on while they waited on the host. The smell of rich and varied food reached his nostrils and he found his mouth watering, hungry after a day's preparation and meditation. He was always certain of a grand reception and exquisite food at the house of Xaro.

He suddenly felt a sharp stabbing pain in his head and his whole body convulsed under its power.

"Hello," a young voice greeted as the pain continued rippling through him. He looked up with a start and as he met the huge, lavender eyes it was as if small explosions wreaked havoc behind his eyeballs. Through the tears which sprung up he could just make out the small boy's face and gasped.

It was Rhaego. There could be no mistaking those distinctive Targaryen features he had read about.

As he watched a small smile play across the child's seemingly innocent face the pain grew too much and he passed out.

* * *

_"I think this is the one,"_ Rhaego mused, sending the thought to the dragons who were still cloistered across the villa in Doreah's chambers. _"He could not stand to be near me, his mind crumbled under my probing."_

_"He is not as weak as you think, dear brother,"_ they cautioned.

_"We are dragons,"_ Rhaego shot back, jutting his small chin out and regarding the frail, shriveled man before him with contempt.

"Rhaego, there you are!" the worried voice of Irri reached through his musing and he turned, offering up a guileless smile and toddling into her outstretched arms.

Irri glanced at the elderly man, passed out on the sofa with a goblet of wine set before him and tutted in disapproval. "I've been so worried, sweet one," she chided softly as she held him close in a protective hug. "You mustn't wander off like that, not everyone is our friend" she glanced pointedly at the stranger and fussed over Rhaego all the way back to Daenerys' chambers.

Rhaego merely wound his fingers into her dark hair and rested his face against her neck, lulled to a calm state by the familiar smell of her. She kissed him quickly on the forehead and he squirmed happily.

"We must get you ready for the feast, my prince," she fret, half to herself, when they arrived back in their rooms. "Dinner begins very soon and you are not even properly dressed."

He nodded slightly and allowed himself to be primped and preened for the feast, knowing he would once again come face to face with the man who coveted him.

_"He will not be so quick to approach you now, little Rhaego,"_ Drogon crooned with pride from across the hall.

_"Good,"_ he grimaced._ "I don't want him near any of us."_

_"Then destroy his mind,"_ Viserion suggested.

Rhaego pouted thoughtfully. _"If he dares make a move against us we shall obliterate him, both mind and body."_

_"Until then?"_ Viserion demanded.

_"I...don't know,"_ the boy admitted, torn between a dragon like urge to destroy this perceived threat and a human need for compassion.

_"We should squash his feeble mind,"_ Viserion protested, confused by the boy's reluctance.

_"No!"_ Rhaego flared, remembering the frailty of the man and hating the idea of needless killing._ "We wait, and if we must, we strike."_

_"Very well,"_ Viserion backed down after a moment of tension humming across their bond.

_"We shall do this your way, little brother,"_ Rhaellath acceded. _"But no human can plot against a dragon and hope to live."_

_"Of course,"_ Rhaego agreed, his small shoulders relaxing as harmony flowed between them all once again. _"If anyone tries to hurt you I shall break them myself."_

A jolt of fierce affection flashed from the dragons into his mind and he returned it readily.

"Time for the feast," Daenerys crouched down to her son and smiled, wiping a stray stand of hair from his face and tucking it behind his ear. "I hope you're hungry."

"Food!" he gurgled happily, grasping her hand in his and using her to support him as he walked on his chunky, unsteady legs.

"Yes, sweetheart, food," she laughed. "Tonight we also meet a guest of honour, so I want you to be on your best behaviour, okay?"

He nodded and rushed on ahead, hungry, saved from stumbling only by the firm stabilising grip of his mother's hands.

_I'm always on my best behaviour,_ he chuckled mischievously.

* * *

"Food?" Rhaego questioned, tugging slightly at her hand.

"Soon, we must first wait for Jorah," she replied distractedly, glancing around looking for her adviser who had agreed to meet her in the large antechamber before the feast so they could enter together. United.

Rhaego pouted and fidgeted, growing restless quickly. _Hurry up, Jorah._ She began to pace, Irri following her every movement with nervous eyes.

Minutes passed, it cannot have been longer in reality yet to Daenerys, whose heart pounded for reasons she did not understand at the thought of meeting this guest of honour, it seemed far longer. At last Jorah appeared, offering a wan smile by way of apology and taking her arm, whispering into her ear intimately.

"I apologise for my lateness khaleesi," he began, drawing her closer with his hushed tones. "I overheard a conversation which may be important."

"I see," she nodded, smiling calmly as if they discussed nothing of consequence. "Should I hear of it now or shall it wait for later, in my chambers?"

"It is sensitive, we should wait until the feast is over and we can discuss it in private," he drew her towards the banquet hall and Irri pulled Rhaego behind them in silence.

"Good. For now, smile," she ordered, and with that the four of them waltzed into the large hall, greeted by a sea of faces belonging to some of the most important men in Qarth. Seated in the centre, to Xaro's left, was a man with paper thin skin stretched over a skeletal face, his eyes dark and rimmed in kohl. She wasn't sure what drew her to him, but she felt his presence stronger than anyone she had ever known and when he settled his gaze upon her and Rhaego a prickling sensation clawed up her spine, chilling her to the core and making her think of running far, far from him. This must be Pyat Pree, the esteemed Warlock of Qarth.

He smiled, his eyes fixed on her son and she drew Rhaego close to her, protectively.

"Khaleesi," Xaro gushed as the crowd grew silent, wine already tinging his cheeks pink. "You have made it at last, please join us on the dais."

She inclined her head gracefully and straightened her spine, walking with purpose up to the proffered place at his right hand side and smiling warmly to the men of Qarth as their hungry eyes followed her every move. She knew they did not take her seriously, in Qarth women were valued for certain things only, yet under their scrutiny she managed to exude the natural dignity of a leader, Jorah's steadying arm at her side. They may think she was only useful as an ornament but she would show them the value and power of a Targaryen queen.

Today they may look to her exquisite dress, to her rounded breasts, to her trim, curvaceous figure and to her milky white throat, but one day they would see that in not assessing her mind, her ambitions and her power they had made a fatal mistake. She smiled winningly and sashayed her hips as she walked, their interest captured. Let them underestimate her, it would be their undoing.

Daenerys caught Irri by the wrist as they sat down, Rhaego on her knee and Jorah to her right. Irri crouched down to hear her mistress's words as the conversations drowned each other out in the rising noise of the feast.

"Go check on the dragons" she hissed in Dothraki, her large eyes imploring.

"Right away, khaleesi," she replied, ever obedient, weaving her way back through the crowd with purpose. Daenerys watched her go, stroking Rhaego's hair absently, before turning to see that the Warlock had been watching her, a slight smile on his face.

Rhaego scowled up at the Warlock and bit into a skewer of pork, his eyes trained on the elderly man with a single minded focus she had not seen in him before, like a predator guardedly watching its prey. She was reminded of Drogo and her heart fluttered at the thought.

"Queen Dany," Xaro slurred, assuming an intimacy with her he did not possess and annoying her with such a casual form of address. "I wish to introduce you to our guest of honour tonight, Pyat Pree."

The man bowed his head respectfully and smiled, stretching the skin on his face in an unappealing way. She had never seen such a cold smile, his eyes appraised her and his nostrils twitched. What did he see when he looked at her?

Rhaego bunched her satin dress in his hands and she noted how his little shoulders tensed subtly, his eyes never leaving the Warlock's.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Daenerys Stormborn," he wheezed. She was momentarily caught off guard by his use of her mother's title for her, how could it be he knew to address her in that way?

"The pleasure is all mine," she recovered swiftly and smiled, fighting down the panic as she felt the dark magic which surrounded him caress her mind gently, probing to see what she was made of.

Rhaego scowled and suddenly the dark magic she had felt was gone, no trace remaining. She glanced from her son to the Warlock and saw a tear run down the man's face, his eyes glazing over for a moment and his hands trembling as he dropped the wine goblet in his fingers with a crash that brought over a whole horde of nervous slaves. Rhaego's features relaxed and at once the old man returned to normal, his eyes blinking as he wiped away the trace of water down his face.

She was not troubled by the Warlock's magic again that night. She looked down at her son in disbelief many times as he ate, at no point did he again show the focus or anger he had revealed when staring at Pree. He had turned once more into her carefree, cheerful, hungry child and she began to think she had imagined what happened. Jorah, who had also noticed the unusual and disturbing exchange, met Daenerys' eyes over the boy's head. It was clear neither of them knew how to interpret what they had seen and both wanted to talk about it but could not. Not here.

"Pom'it?" Rhaego asked, pointing with his chubby fingers to the bowl of his favourite pomegranate seeds.

Daenerys reached over to pass her son the bowl but Nagis was faster, handing the young prince the bowl and smiling at him affectionately.

"Thank you Nagis," she smiled. Nagis bowed and grinned back, her eyes sparkling with a new confidence which Daenerys felt she and Rhaego had brought out. It was beautiful to see.

"Tanks 'Gis," Rhaego chirped, "Sit."

He grabbed the girl's wrist and tugged her around to sit with them. Nagis shook her head but stopped when she saw Daenerys' encouraging look. As the girl with her telling black leather choker sat by her friend, the prince, many turned to look with scandalised expressions until Daenerys glared them down; daring, with that fierce glint in her eyes, anyone to make an issue of her son's choice of companion.

As the children shared a bowl of pomegranate seeds Pree turned to face her once more. "He chooses his friends strangely," the man commented, loud enough to be heard over the din.

She placed a hand protectively on Nagis' shoulder and smiled, her eyes blazing still. "He chooses well in both his friends and," she glared pointedly at him, "in those who are not his friends."

Pree merely smiled politely and returned to his food, Xaro watching their exchange with a frown.

It wasn't until she saw her hosts eyes hot on her face, scrutinising her without shame, that she wondered when Doreah was to distract him. She probably should have noticed her absence long before, she had certainly expected her handmaiden to be here. Was this because she had told Doreah to cease her intimacies with Xaro? She frowned, feeling she could still have used the girl's distracting presence even if she did not permit anything to come from it. She should have known this, should have been here at Daenerys' shoulder, yet she was not. What was more important than helping her mistress tonight?

Her skin crawled, yet she did not know why.

It was at that moment that Rhaego dropped the fine china bowl of fruit, scattering the contents and the shards of intricate pottery across the floor and letting out a feral scream.

"Zaldrīzes!" he cried, writhing inconsolably as Daenerys and Jorah tried to hold him down. "Zaldrīzes! Dro! Rhae! Vis!" his little fists pounded against the restraint of their arms, his legs flying as he sought escape. "Zaldrīzes!" he sobbed, his body shuddering as he cried out their names over and over again frantically, lashing out like a wild thing.

_What has happened?_ Her heart froze in her chest as she excused herself with as much dignity as she could muster and rushed out of the dining hall with Rhaego, tucked firmly under her arm, shrieking like one possessed. _What has happened to her children?!_

Once she was clear of the hall she ran, her gilded sandals echoing against the marble floor as she wove through the corridors towards Doreah's chambers. She could hear nothing save Rhaego's cries over the thundering beat of her own heart, her mouth was dry and her insides felt like they had been wrung through a clothes wringer. She was shaking with adrenaline and fear by the time she reached the huge cedar doors of the chambers where her dragons were kept and she took a deep breath to still her fears. She hammered on the door, crying out frantically.

"Doreah! Doreah!" she yelled, her fists pounding against the unyielding wood as blood began to run down her arms. She paid it no heed.

Jorah, closely followed by Nagis, caught up to them and Jorah took her into his arms as she cried incoherently for her dragons. Rhaego, too, had to be held lest he damage his tiny fists on the hard wood.

"Get us in there, Jorah." Her voice was flat now, shaking slightly.

"Of course," he let go of her and kicked repeatedly at the weak point of the frame. Time passed and Jorah puffed and panted between each blow, loosening the hinges slowly, an anticlimax to Daenerys' rushed panic. Then the door gave, crashing down as Jorah threw his body weight into it, and the rush was once more on as Rhaego and Daenerys ran into the room, stopping short at what they saw.

There was blood everywhere, splattered up the wall and pooled around a body. A body which was carelessly strewn across the floor in what had to have been an uncomfortable position; were she alive.

Daenerys broke down, sobs tearing through her body as she looked down at the crumpled, discarded body of her friend before them. Jorah lay his arm around her protectively and held her as she shook.

"Irri..." Rhaego crawled forward, tears pricking the corner of his eyes as he reached out a hand to touch her cold, expressionless face. Nagis held him back and whispered shushing noises in his hair as his lower lip wobbled and a tear streaked its way down his cheek to cling stubbornly onto his chin before splashing to mingle with the handmaiden's blood. He then let out a roar, a noise so non-human it quietened down everyone present, and in his mind he felt the echoing remnants of his dragons' rage as they saw her body through his mind.

_She had been theirs,_ they fumed as one. _No one stole a life from dragons._


	17. Overwhelmed

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

_**Author's Note:** I may take more liberties with the story line from now on, mainly because my memory of this season of GoT is fuzzy. I'll follow the broad outline but may give my own twist on events. I hope that doesn't put people off, if you have any quibbles let me know and I'll try to work on them!_

_I just want to say thank you though to everyone who reads this, 'favourites' it and especially to those who review (your feedback is so helpful and appreciated)._  
_This story actually now has **100** **favourites** and it may sound silly but that really means a lot to me and pushes me to carry on writing it, so I just wanted to say thank you to all those who have added it to your list, you really do make my day._

_I also want to specifically thank **WaylandCorp** **4**, who offers me such solid advice on the story and gives me insight into the GoT universe. Your help has been, and in the next arc will most certainly be, invaluable._

* * *

_**Chapter Fifteen:  
**_Overwhelmed

* * *

Doreah ran through the halls of the villa, tears streaming down her cheeks and blood drying on her trembling hands. The dragons thrashed violently in the sack she had stuffed them into and she jostled them abruptly, hoping they would quieten down. She had enough on her mind without their attitude, dumb beasts.

_Irri_. That was a complication she hadn't counted on and in the moment, being caught by her friend red handed, she had acted on instinct but now as the other girl's face became all she could see when she closed her eyes, she wished she could take it all back. Re-do, un-do. A sob escaped from her mouth and she stumbled, stubbing her toe on a side table and cursing under her breath. _Damn it, Irri. Why?_ Why couldn't she have been at the feast as she should have been, as was planned?

She swiped angrily at the tears which clouded her vision and pressed on ahead to her drop off point, where, if everything went to plan Pree would be there to receive the dragons and she could walk away to have a long hot shower and scrub herself clean of all traces of what she had done.

She had killed her. She had killed her friend. Another sob. Another curse.

"You have them?" a rasping voice interrupted her and she came to a halt, making out the outline of the bald man in the dark. He remained in the shadows, reaching out a withered hand, the veins protruding a deep, dark blue against the off white of his skin, into the range of torchlight and she handed over the bundle. The dragons raged against their captivity and she was relieved to be responsible for them no longer.

As he held the bundle in his hands a shiver ran up his spine and he gasped in shock at the sensation, the very air around them crackling and sparking.

He waited, expecting more. He mind thawed from shock and she realised he wanted Rhaego too. "You shall have the boy, soon, as we agreed."

"I need him now," Pree spoke impatiently, a hunger in his eyes glimmering and his pupils dilated as if he were becoming suddenly intoxicated. He seemed to tremble slightly, as if reacting to his proximity to the dragons. She had never seen him lose the mask of composure he wore so stoically and his expression chilled her.

"That wasn't the arrangement."

"Then _change_ the arrangement," he snapped, his kohl lined eyes boring into her from the shadows.

She backed away, her hands still shaking as panic welled up in her at the idea of deviating from their plan. It was rash, unsafe, a death sentence for them all, a sure fire path to failure. The dragons crooned and she felt sick, fearing their influence was seeping into him. "I cannot," she insisted, her breaths coming heavily.

He raised a fist as if about to strike her and then caught himself, his face registering shock at his own reactions. They stared at each other, fear and dawning understanding mirrored in their eyes, and he dropped his hand to his side, deflated. Doreah dared not move. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, his eyes closed, repeating this process for a minute or so before nodding once. When he opened his eyes they were back to normal and she was relieved to see that his composure was once more firmly in place.

"Rash decisions lead to failure," he murmured, seemingly to himself. Doreah let out a breath and felt her whole body relax. "I must be more careful in future."

"The original plan?" she clarified.

"Indeed," he inclined his head and they backed slowly away from each other, she towards the direction of her new chambers and he into the shadows.

When she made it to the new rooms she had been given, free of blood and in a place she would not be found by Daenerys, she slumped onto the floor as she closed the door behind her and allowed the tears and sobs to have free reign, mourning the girl who had been her friend and fellow maid. Irri.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I-I never meant-" he voice was thick and the words caught in her throat as her tears gave way to wails of anguish. She cried out, the rage and disgust, as she recalled her friend's lifeless eyes, overflowing from her in wordless sounds as she grew more and more hysterical. She raked her nails through her hair and curled up into a ball, begging the images to leave her mind. They were too much.

"Get out of my head!" she snarled, frantically, as the memories danced before her tightly shut eyes. Memories of a friendship, of a friend.

_Irri rubbing her back after a hard day's work. Gods her hands worked magic on those knots._  
_Irri laughing as Doreah shows the young Daenerys how to seductively sway her hips. _  
_Irri beaming up at the other maids in pride as Rhaego manages a milky burp. _  
_Irri coming back from the market with a surprise handful of blackberries, Doreah's favourite tart fruit. _  
_Irri groaning when being woken up one morning after too much Dothraki wine. _  
_Irri asking Doreah's advice on how to win over a man, followed by her clumsy efforts at flirtation which had them all giggling like children. _  
_Irri's smile. _  
_Irri's blood. _  
_Irri's cold, dead corpse._

"What have I done?" she whimpered, finally. Lying on the ground in the foetal position, her arms wrapped around her body while her thin robes allowed the floor's chill to permeate their flimsy material, she shook uncontrollably. "Oh Irri, please let me take it back."

She didn't sleep that night, just sat slumped on the floor staring with haunted eyes at the intricate patterns on the tiles before her. She had no more tears, no more rage, just a newly created void inside her which could not be filled. She felt hollow and alone, even when in the morning Xaro visited and took her to bed she felt no pleasure.

She felt nothing.

* * *

Pree emptied the three dragons into the cage he had designed and clicked his tongue as he watched them hurl their bodies against the bars in anger. His mind shimmered with this new found power as he felt their presence bolster his magic to levels he had never imagined.

_"Let us go, this is an outrage!"_ one of them snarled. He could understand them clearly now and with each touch of their mind his whole body hummed, allowing their powers to seep into him. Did they realise it? Possibly not, he smirked.

"You are mine now," Pree gloated, relishing the connection they weaved with their minds as they communed with him in this manner.

_"Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor,"_ they returned as one, their indignation and rage so palpable in the thought sending that he could taste the bitter bile on his own tongue. _A dragon is not a slave_. How naive, he chuckled, they presume to have a say in their destiny.

"You are but beasts of burden, here to do my will in allowing me to fulfill my destiny as the most powerful warlock this world has ever seen," he informed them before idly tossing in a hunk of meat to their cage. "Eat and grow strong, for your strength shall be mine to harvest."

They spat at him, pathetic sparks of fire spraying from their snouts. He could feel their power grow as their anger rose and hid a smile, it was just as he had thought, their powers were enhanced by strong surges of emotion. The boy would certainly come in handy here. His veins pulsated as the power surged through him, he splayed out his fingers and gasped as the air around that hand crackled and set alight. He extinguished the flame with a simple thought and turned his back on the dragons as they crowded the meat and attempted to flame it before eating. They didn't like raw meat? My, how picky.

With that he withdrew to his quarters and delved into a state of in depth meditation, the further he strove for that balance of mind and magic, the more he felt the power emanating from the dragons flow into him. It hummed around the room, around the very House of the Undying, and filled him as he gently inhaled and exhaled, his pulse quickening as he reached out with his mind for this new power, fresh at his disposal.

The wooden bowl in the corner of the room, the one his slave took its meals from, began to vibrate and, the moment he realised it and concentrated his mind on that object alone it smashed to countless pieces before his very eyes. The silent slave flinched and Pree grinned, wondering what would happen if he turned his attention to the man.

At first, a whimper as Pree focused intently and began to explore the slave's mind.

Then things got interesting.

He felt the man's mind laid out before him in an intricate pattern, a beautiful pattern for such a lowly creature, he mused. Ever so tentatively he began sending surges of magic through the neural pathways which stimulated pain, fear and panic and then he sat back to observe and revel in the outcome. Even as the man screamed and thrashed, his fists pounding against the cold stone floor and quickly becoming bloodied, Pree felt at peace, flickering his concentration once more back to the mind and strumming his magic through the man like an instrument. The man's eyeballs grew bloodshot as he cried out, his words becoming incoherent as Pree probed further, pushing past boundaries of the mind which should not be broken.

Breaking them.

The animalistic screams ceased all too soon for his liking and the man lay in a pool of his own body's waste, the veins on his forehead unusually prominent, his face set in a rigid mask of agony as his sightless eyes stared at Pree. What a shame it was over too quickly, how clumsy of him to end it before any real progress had been made.

"Oh well," he sighed to himself, ringing a bell for another slave to clean up the mess. "There was always more minds to crack, that was oddly satisfying for something so vulgar."

He could feel the dragons rallying against him in his mind, pressing in on him in outrage at what he had done with their connection.

He laughed and blocked them, quietening their pesky voices with ease as the slave scurried in, not daring to recoil at the sight of her broken colleague splayed across the stones. He could sense the fear and disgust she hid so well. She stooped to drag him out and, with the adrenaline coursing through him from his new found power he felt a strange urge well up in him as the slave bent over, her shapely legs coming on show as her tunic rose up. It had been so long since he had desired a women but now, feeling rejuvenated and unstoppable, he craved this new kind of dominance.

* * *

"I feel so alive," he mused as the slave finally left the room an hour later. The body was cleaned up and he was satisfied, yet now a desire for bigger things took root in his being. "Once I have the boy everything will fall into place," he reminded himself, yet the anxious need for more made him restless. His magic abilities were growing faster than he could comprehend, yet he had nothing to test them on other than the puny minds of his slaves. He needed something bigger, more demanding, more rewarding.

Sharp stabbing pains flitted across his temples and he rubbed them gently with his fingers, desperate to unleash the build up of tension this magic was creating in him. Was it too much? Was he being overwhelmed?

He mentally lashed out at the table in the corner of the room and it collapsed with a sharp crack. He sighed as the built up pressure was momentarily relieved and took deep breaths to gain control once more. He was loath to limit the connection with the dragons as the power they were unwillingly feeding him was more than anything he had ever dreamed of, yet he realised he may have to build up his strength. The best approach would be a slow, controlled increase of connection between their minds until he could handle all they had to offer.

That would be when he would return for Rhaego.

He smiled and capped the flow between himself and the dragons, finding a level he was currently comfortable at and settling down to meditate once more.

For days, while Daenerys and Rhaego fumed and tore the city inside out with the help of Xaro, who directed their pursuits in the directions which suited him, Pree grew. His magic tolerance blossomed so rapidly that within the week he was able to withstand the full connection to the dragons without rest. The very air around him shimmered as he walked, the atmosphere hummed with magic and with just the slightest though he could crumble both minds and objects before him.

_My training period is complete,_ he wrote, informing Xaro via pigeon, _it is now time to implement the next phase of our plans._

The dragons cried constantly for their mother and brother so that night he went to them, coming face to face with their reptilian forms for the first time since he had brought them down here.

"You miss them?" he asked, sneering slightly.

They threw their tiny bodies against the bars of their cage and shot pathetic streams of fire towards him. They did not even come close.

"Well, don't worry," he soothed mockingly. "Your precious mother and brother will soon be here to join you."

They yowled as if in pain and threw themselves with more force and aggression against the bars, bombarding his mind with such power and anger that he had to leave immediately, slightly shaken and sporting a nose bleed and throbbing pain in his head. He immediately blocked them out while they raged and pulled himself together, opening their connection once more only when he felt they had quietened down and sighing as the power flowed through his veins again. Now, unless he upset them again he doubted they would have the power to cause harm, yet he would learn from this and face with with more caution in the future.

They were, after all, dragons.

* * *

Rhaego could hear them as they called out to him, their voices muffled by distance and hunger but there nonetheless. So they were still alive.

_"We will find you,"_ he promised, uncertain whether they could feel his words over this distance. _"I swear you shall be rescued and avenged."_

Nagis hummed as she brushed Rhaego's hair and began to stroke his arm when she heard his furiously muffled sniffle. He felt so empty without them near and whenever he tried to reach them and got no response he ended up crying. A tear plopped off of his chin on onto the rug they were sitting on by the fireplace.

"Don't worry," Nagis whispered softly, her voice quiet and calming.

"Mine dwagons," he whimpered with his tiny jaw set, all the while annoyed that some of the sounds did not yet come naturally to his voice. His high Valyrian was pitch perfect, yet in this tongue he was consistently clumsy and slow.

"Oh Rhaego," she sighed sympathetically, oblivious to his frustration. "We will get them back soon. The Queen won't stop, if she has to tear up the kingdom she'll find them."

He turned and looked up into her eyes, nodding sadly and reaching his arms out for a hug. Taken aback she nervously drew him into her little arms and the scent of ginger, the fragrance of the soaps slaves traditionally used in Qarth, enveloped him. He grasped her tightly, unable to fit his short arms around her completely so instead clutching her clothes into bunches in his fists, and she held him in return as he began to shudder with sobs.

As they embraced, with the crackling of the fire in the background and its flames warming their bodies, the slave comforted her prince.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Sorry this was relatively short, didn't wanna move onto the real action just yet as I need time to make it good, but just wanted to upload something :)_  
_Thanks for reading, guys!_


	18. Communion

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_..._

* * *

_**Chapter Fifteen:  
**__Communion_

* * *

That night Rhaego slept fitfully, as he had every night since his dragons had been kidnapped, except tonight was different. Tonight he dreamed.

_A place, dark and damp smelling. Iron bars set tight and thick around him. The floor caked with faeces and a smattering of blood. Cold, raw meat in a bowl, untouched._

_"Brother?" the familiar voices cried out to him. He twisted and turned but could not see them, his throat was clogged up and whenever he tried to call out in return a pressure he could not fight clamped down on him and he could make no sound. He reached out to shake the iron bars, desperate to give some sound to indicate his presence, yet they would not budge under his strength. He wanted to scream in frustration, but no noise would come._

_"Brother?" the pleading tone was heartbreaking._

_I am here, he wanted to shout to the rooftops. I would not abandon you. He scratched at his neck, desperate to relieve the pressure around his throat but succeeding only in clawing at his own skin, leaving red welts down his skin that burned gently. I am here! Please hear me. His mind screamed the words, yet for once there was no connection with his dragons and his mind was mute. Worthless._

_As hot tears ran down his cheeks he threw himself against the bars and slammed his tiny body into them._

_Where are you? he cried out in his mind, the silence closing in and drowning him._

_This is how it would be if they were gone, he realised. No voices in his head, no soothing words or surges of affection._

_Just silence._

_No! his body screamed. _

_"We are here," the voice, a mere whisper, reassured him. "You cannot feel us but we can feel you, brother."_

_Relief washed over him and his body was overtaken by shaking as he fell to the ground and felt his eyes roll back in their sockets. "We cannot commune with you while you wake, we must take you to the place of deepest sleep so you can fully hear us brother. So we can talk."_

_Black closed in on him and his skin crawled, he felt as if his lungs would implode, his head was ready to burst and he fought the sensation as panic rose up in him._

_No, he pleaded. No one heard him._

_"Sweet one, do not fight, let us take you to oblivion," the soothing voices urged him. He knew them, trusted them with his life. The panic subsided slightly and though he could feel, in the world of the waking, his body thrashing wildly, he relaxed and allowed them to guide him to the place where they could commune._

_"We are sorry." Their caress was soft and would usually have been soothing but then the pain hit him, his body fighting this despite his desire to give in. He was vaguely aware of his physical body as it let out a loud scream and convulsed, banging his head backwards against the head board of his bed and feeling his muscles spasm with greater physical power than he thought he possessed. He tasted blood, hot and slick, metallic tasting, as he bit down on his own tongue, but soon all of the agony of his body fled as he was embraced by a darkness the likes of which he had never experienced._

_In the newfound darkness he felt numb, as if he had been completely detached from his body. No sensation at all. _

_"Forgive us, this was the only way." All of a sudden light burst into being around him, cloaking him in the beauty of his dragons. He saw them and joy bubbled over in his mind. There were tears of pain still streaked down his face but now, upon seeing the faces of his precious siblings, fresh tears of joy streamed down his cheeks to wash them away._

_"You're okay!" he cried, reaching out with every ounce of adoration in his being and throwing his love at them. They returned it eagerly and he could feel the pain their separation had caused them mirrored in their link. It felt so good to be linked on such a level again, they had been distant and unreachable for too long._

_He could have spent a lifetime telling them how much he had missed them, yet he knew there were more important things to say right now. They needed rescuing and this was his chance to find out where they were and who needed killing to set this atrocity to rights._

_"How do we save you?" he asked, squashing the rage that built in him as he considered the revenge he so craved. There would be time for rage later, as there would be time for an emotional reunion. He relished the thought of both, but knew they must settle down to business now for he did not know how long they had in this place._

_"The warlock, Pree, we are in his villa in a dungeon underground," they replied, images flashing through his mind as he was reminded of the cell he had been shown earlier in his dream. The smell of that degradation assaulted his senses once more and fresh anger welled up inside him at the thought that was how they had been treated._

_But he sensed something else, something they were loath to tell him. "What is it?" he asked warily._

_"Doreah," they hissed with malice. "She was the one who betrayed us." Fresh images, pictures of Irri's death and the sack they had been bundled in, flitted through his mind and he recoiled. _

_"No, you're wrong," he pleaded._

_"We are not," they said sadly. He knew it to be true, he had no doubt that this was as they said it was, yet his mind could not believe it._

_"Betrayal!" Rhaego spat. Fury, the likes not even Pree had brought forth from him, shot through his veins, hot and wild. He wanted to lash out at something, scream at something, cry, but instead he stood there shaking, his body no longer feeling numb and distant but returning back to sensation as the enormity of his Doreah's treachery sank in._

_The dragons faded and their presence in his mind became fuzzy as he found himself being drawn back to consciousness._

"Sweetheart, please," a soft voice pleaded. Mother. He felt himself being drawn towards her and cried out, desperately trying to claw his way back to the place where he had felt his dragons but it was useless, they had already left him.

"Dragons," he murmured groggily as Daenerys shook him gently awake. The sudden influx of light and sensory input disoriented him and he flinched, covering his face with his hands and whimpering. He felt gentle hands stroke his sweat matted hair and tasted blood. His body felt empty and he realised he was shaking slightly, his limbs weak and slow to respond to his orders.

"He's awake." The voice of his mother as she spoke to another was distant, as if she were not crouching over him but at the other end of a room and whispering. His head pounded and he was too weak to resist as sleep claimed him.

"He had a fit, he has never had one before," Daenerys informed the wide eyed slave factually, as if her heart wasn't in turmoil over seeing him taken ill in this manner. "You must summon the physician and bring a jug of fresh water, some basic food and please inform Jorah immediately." She needed him now, his calm would sooth her.

"Yes, my Queen." The girl sprang up and bowed hastily before flying through the door into the corridors as if being chased by demons. She had been the one to hold her son as he was taken by this fit, she had been the one to support his head and stop him from biting his tongue after the first thrashing had meant his nearly choked on his own blood. She had been at his side, frantic with worry and shrieking for Daenerys to come quickly. The girl had been the one to see that her son was cared for and now she would be the one to see the boy received proper care, while Daenerys slumped on the floor and watched him sleep, paralysed by fear lest she lose another of her children.

"Rhaego." Her voice caught in her throat.

From somewhere far away she felt a comforting stroke against her mind. _"...Be okay..."_

Her dragons! she tried to reach back out to them but could not find the thread of their thoughts to latch on to, the last traces of them in her mind having crumbled to dust.

She cradled the limp body of her son in her arms and held him tight as hope welled up inside her. He would be okay, the dragons had reassured her. Now she must stop this self pity and take action once more, her other children still needed her.

Nagis returned moments later with the requested food, water and Jorah, hastening to add that the physician was preparing his tools and would arrive momentarily.

"Excellent." Daenerys placed Rhaego gently on the furs at the fireplace and rose, her expression set. Jorah smiled to see the spark returned to her eyes, an edge which had been dimming over the last few days as despair at finding her dragons had slowly crept in, and bowed low before her, feeling the majesty of her bearing like a tangible presence.

"Jorah, we shall double our efforts to find my children," she ordered with a hard glint in her eyes. "And when we find whoever is responsible we shall destroy them and leave this place."

He bowed low yet again, a thrill running up his spine at the bite in her words. "Yes, my Queen."

"Their destruction shall not be merciful," she added, almost under her breath.

"Of course."

Nagis rose up, hearing these words, and her bright eyes burned with conviction. "No one harms a dragon."

Daenerys smiled fondly, surprised at the girl's vehemence, it was so uncharacteristic of the timid, sweet creature. She placed a hand on the girl's neck, looking forward to the day she could tear off the disgusting black collar, and smiled down at her. "Another thing, Jorah, when we leave we shall claim this girl as ours." Nagis gasped in shock and met the queen's eyes with such hope and delight she felt her heart contract. "Whatever the price that is required to make this happen, whether in gold or in blood, she shall join us."

He inclined his head and smiled fondly at the girl who had served them all so well and found a place in the hearts of all.

"Th-thank you." Nagis bobbed a rough curtsy and brushed away the tears which welled up in her eyes. "I will make sure you won't ever regret it."

"I know," Daenerys assured her.

Even before Irri's death Daenerys had planned to take this child, but now with one maid down she was needed more than ever. No one could replace Irri, but this girl had carved a place in their group and would be welcome to take on Irri's work and with her sweet and cheerful disposition. She was sure Irri would smile down on the arrangement.

Oh Irri, how she would be missed.

* * *

Pree felt something that night as he meditated, a surge of energy and power from the dragons. He reached out to them with his mind but for the first time in a while their thoughts were closed off to him, as was their power. Never mind, he had cultivated his own power on the back of the magic he had channeled into his being from them, he would try and summon them back, break whatever this was which had allowed them to sequester themselves and their abilities from him.

He reached out and was repelled, not violently as they had once done but calmly as if in their current state they could just brush him off as easily as one may brush dust from their robes. It shook him slightly that their efforts to shift his mental powers had been so minimal, and so successful. He tried again, probing their defenses and finding that they had managed to bury themselves deep into a commune with each other, creating a state of consciousness so deep within themselves that he could not reach them without digging through a vast amount of defenses. He could now feel the distant thrum of their minds' communion, yet could not access it.

Patience, Pree, he chided himself. This was impressive and an obstacle but would not hold him at bay forever, and he thrilled to know that when he did infiltrate their minds at this most intimate of levels he would have access to the greatest reserve of power, their very souls.

He began testing their boundaries and masked his own emotions in order to conceal his intent. He would only spook them and he needed them to think he could not break their barriers, while still probing to see how they could be broken. Tricky work indeed.

He worked away for a while, feeling the ebb and flow of their communication without sensing the meaning, which in itself was frustrating but would soon be no matter. He was methodical and patient in his chipping away, never taking enough of the barriers down to cause alarm, biding his time.

_"...Doreah..."_ the word popped into his mind from their conversation and he knew he was close. So they were discussing the conspiracy, for all the good it would do them. He felt their awareness of his strengthening presence in their minds and he drew back, not wanting to startle them.

Then a word, backed by rage the likes of which he had never felt, pulsed through the link and resonated in his mind. _"Betrayal!"_ It was not a voice of the dragons this time, he realised as the enormity of what they had been up to hit him. It was Rhaego's. Curses!

They felt his presence strongly now, his shock at this revelation, and they immediately clamped down on their subconscious link. Their minds faded from his and he felt a cry of outrage fly from his lips as he knew that in underestimating them he had ruined his own plan.

Rhaego knew everything no doubt, that was what he had to assume. How much the abominable toddler would be able to communicate that to those around him was yet to be seen, but Pree could not afford to underestimate this child as he had clearly underestimated the dragons.

He stormed out of his chambers and down to their cells, his hands crackling with furious energy as he went. A stupid slave girl happened to stand in a corridor as he was walking through and in his anger he reached out and destroyed her feeble mind, feeling slightly better for the mild outlet of his frustration. She collapsed to the ground in a heap and he kicked her to one side before continuing, at a slightly more sedate pace now that he had been able to vent slightly using another creature.

He would usually now feel some force of anger and sadness form the dragons, who always seemed to mourn the loss of life at his hands, but this time there was nothing, silence. He decided that for a punishment instead of raw animal meat he was start to feed them slaves, see how long they lasted in their hunger before they did something they themselves would be disgusted by. Yes, that would be satisfying indeed.

He reached the stone steps which led to their cell and ran his hands across the cold, chalky walls of the corridor for balance as he took the uneven steps to where they were kept. The flickering of torches along the wall at intervals lit his way, yet his aged eyes still struggled in the half light.

When he reached their cage he was disappointed to find they were all passed out on the floor, he could not reach them in their minds no matter how he tried, they must be exhausted after using their magic so.

He grunted and returned to his chambers, quickly penning a letter to Xaro to explain the situation. A new plan would be needed, they had been discovered.

* * *

Rhaego opened his eyes slowly and winced at the brightness of the room he was in. As his eyes adjusted and he could keep them open for slightly longer he saw that Nagis knelt next to him, holding his hand in her flaky, calloused one and gazing intently into the fire. He squeezed her fingers gently between his own, noticing how weak his limbs still were and feeling the headache return, before trying to sit up.

"My prince," Nagis gushed as she saw him with eyes open. She rushed to stand and bolted over to the door, where she called out to his mother in joy, a huge smile splitting her face and lighting up her eyes.

Daenerys and Jorah ran into the room and threw themselves onto the floor at his side, Daenerys brushing his face with her fingers and beaming down at him as if he had won a war on her behalf.

"You're okay," she murmured over and over again.

He nodded slightly, spikes of pain running through his head at the jerky motion, and lay his head back down on the furs, recalling his meeting with the dragons in his mind and their message.

"Dory," he croaked, trying to get the word out clearly. His name for Doreah.

Daenerys smiled, "yes she was in the other room assisting the physician with his herbs. Her mother was a wise woman before the Dothraki came," she explained. "But now I think she has gone to report your condition to Xaro, who is worried for you."

"Dory bad," he tried to explain, seeing she didn't understand his urgency, his message. "Kill Irri!"

Jorah raised an eyebrow and met Daenerys' eyes. "Is he feverish? What is he saying?"

Daenerys frowned, "what do you mean, Rhaego?"

Without the dragons as a conduit he could not communicate with his mother easily using the mental form of communication, but he decided to try, recalling the images the dragons had given him and throwing them in her direction with as much force as he could manage, weakened as he was.

Daenerys gasped.

"Here is his medicine," the physician entered the room and placed a brown liquid in a see through beaker onto the table. Black and green globs floated in it, its smell was pungent and caught at the back of Daenerys' throat when she picked it up to smell it. With a hard look on her face, knowing who had helped in its preparation and what it may contain, she stood up and poured it into the fire.

The physician's jaw fell and he looked to her in shock. "What is the meaning of this?" he spluttered indignantly.

"Maybe I was wrong." She pondered the fire quietly and a deadly atmosphere descended over those gathered there, Nagis and Jorah watching the scene before them with wide, uncomprehending eyes. "Maybe I should have fed you the potion. Was it nightshade she added?" Daenerys demanded, her voice rising now as the smoke from the fire, a greenish hue, rose to envelope them all.

"I-I don't know what you mean," he stammered, shaking now and unable to face this fearsome queen.

"Leave and do not return," she spat, turning away from the unfortunate man, "be grateful I am merciful in this."

Confused and shaken he left, gathering his tools with trembling hands and scurrying away as quickly as possible.

"My Queen?" Jorah asked, only now allowing his confusion and doubt to show.

"It was Doreah, working with Xaro and Pree. She has betrayed us all."

* * *

**Author's Note:** After some thought I will be taking this story in a different direction from GoT. Basically after this arc will be when I plan to deviate fully from canon, because why have Rhaego survive if it won't alter the events of the story? I hope that doesn't put people off, so if you do have any quibbles let me know and I'll try to work on them!  
Also the time to throw in suggestions (like **WaylandCorp** **4**, who has given some excellent help in this regard and is a genius in all things GoT universe I have discovered) is now, as I have a rough idea of where I wanna take this but there are many details yet to be decided and I'm nearing the end of the Pree arc. If you have anything you wanna see happen, any ideas you'd like to throw in, or requests then send them my way in the reviews section. If I can I will weave a story with as much input from you guys as possible, cause that would be kinda fun ;)


	19. The Wrath of Dragons

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_..._

_I'm so sorry I haven't updated this in a while. I was working on another fic which caught my fancy but have now come back to Rhaego as I just have so much fun writing it. Plus I am excited to move on and take it in new and exciting directions._  
_This is basically only slightly faithful to canon now, I've deviated a lot in the events of this chapter but I shall only keep to a vague outline in my story now, using the show and books as more of an inspiration than anything._  
_I hope this is okay for you, faithful readers. If you're still reading this, thank you for your patience._

_It's gonna heat up very soon, I promise ;)_

* * *

_**Chapter Sixteen:  
**__The Wrath of Dragons_

* * *

"Doreah?" Jorah gasped, his eyes going wide with shock at this intimate betrayal.

Daenerys nodded grimly, her eyes blazing, her expression hard and unyielding. Jorah swallowed the lump in his throat, grateful it were not he who were at the mercy of this fearsome rage, the quiet, deadly wrath promised with that expression. Not yet, he shuddered, ruing the day he had ever agreed to spy for the Spider for the thousandth time. Would that he could undo it all, erase his transgressions from history. Alas such was not the way of the world, he would live with his personal shame and strive to absolve his guilt with his every action, serving Daenerys faithfully 'til his last breath.

Would that he could die without ever seeing that expression on her face directed at him, would that she would never know a truth that would shatter his heart to dust.

Would that she would never hate him.

She was his world. So like his beloved wife Lynesse, yet so different.

"How can you be certain?" he faltered. The handmaiden had seemed so dedicated to her Queen, if sometimes aloof.

"Rhaego told me." The khaleesi's tone brokered no discussion and she marched out of her chambers, her posture rigid, her bearing full of purpose. Staggering slightly and still squinting at the light, Rhaego followed. Nagis trailed him faithfully, concern for the tiny child and anger at Doreah warring in her expression, she reached out a hand to steady the boy as he walked. He still looked disorientated, yet there was a determination in him which stayed Jorah's hand, the urge to pick him up receding.

Jorah hastened after them, keeping a careful eye on the boy.

They reached Doreah's chambers in silence, the atmosphere between them charged. Yet she was no where to be seen.

"Xaro's room, then," Daenerys pronounced. Turning on her heels abruptly she led the way once more, Rhaego following, his tiny legs having to double step to keep up. His eyes were brighter now, it seemed he no longer suffered the effects of his earlier ailment.

Jorah lay a hand over the hilt of his sword, ready, as they reached Xaro's chambers which, he now realised, had been rather close to Doreah's. Was that a mere coincidence? Jorah highly doubted it. A frown creased his brow, the heavy set wrinkles knitting together, as he wondered how long this treachery had been brewing under their noses.

Judging by the clenched ball of Daenerys' fists, she wondered the same thing.

Rounding the corner to the door of Xaro's chamber, fury oozing from her every pore, Daenerys bore down on the guard stationed outside.

"Admit us," she ordered through clenched teeth.

The guard shook his head and had the grace to look bashful as sound of passion leaked through the thick wood of the door. "My lord is currently unavailable," the young man informed her needlessly, with an apologetic shrug.

"That is not my concern. Admit us," she repeated her demand.

The guard stiffened and shook his head. "I cannot, come back later."

Jorah's jaw rippled. Upon Daenerys' head tilt he unsheathed his long sword and, in one feel blow, brought the flat side down against the man's head. With a crunch of metal against bone, the man crumpled to the floor, his eyes rolled back in his head and Nagis looked away. Rhaego watched with fascination, his bright eyes widening slightly.

"They may want to invest in armour for their guards," Daenerys noted with a flat voice before allowing Jorah to push open the doors for her. The heavy wood had been drowning out most of the sounds of Doreah and Xaro's lovemaking and so the second they were opened it became all they could hear. Jorah was painfully aware of their every cry of passion, reflecting that maybe he should have sheltered Rhaego from such things, yet Daenerys seemed not to notice, walking ahead unperturbed towards the source of the frenzied screams, pants and cries.

Nagis hung back, visibly shrinking inside herself at the strange noises but Rhaego followed his mother and Jorah, sparing a sympathetic glance for the girl, followed him tentatively.

The sounds stopped suddenly and both Rhaego and Jorah entered the bed chamber in time to see the look of shock on the faces of Xaro and Doreah when they noticed Daenerys, silent and filled with rage, standing over them.

"Kh-Khaleesi?" Doreah piped, fumbling to cover herself with sweat stained sheets. Xaro said nothing, his dark eyes appraising the situation and not liking what he saw.

"Treacherous whore," Daenerys growled. Her voice rose in pitch as the heartbreak of this deception sunk in. Doreah had been her _friend_, this stab in the back was her first taste of true betrayal and she would not forget it, the girl she had been who welcomed those around her without guile died in that moment and Jorah mourned her lost innocence. He recalled the girls laughing together, joking and dancing and riding as close confidants. They had served Daenerys, Irri and Doreah both, with such faithfulness as far as he had seen, with a true bond of fondness which was now severed forever either by death or duplicity.

Daenerys, her eyes two blazing like fiery coals, walked closer to the bed and took the shocked handmaiden roughly by the hair, yanking her backwards with a fierce strength. Doreah yelped, reaching behind to stop her khaleesi from pulling her off the bed and Xaro sprung up to help her, taking Daenerys' tiny wrist in his hand in one swift movement, his still-erect manhood swinging ferociously as he stood, slick from their lovemaking. Jorah felt nauseous at the sight.

Rhaego lurched forward and made a growling noise in his throat at the sight of his mother being grabbed.

In that moment, seeing that his khaleesi may be in danger, for this man of Qarth was large and strong, his anger piqued and his eyes showing a readiness to harm Daenerys, Jorah drew his sword and slashed off his hand at the wrist joint. It was a clean cut, showering Doreah with a stream of warm blood and bringing a scream from the man as Daenerys took his severed hand, which was still wrapped around her wrist, with her other hand and flung it across the room carelessly. Her eyes never left Doreah's.

Rhaego and Jorah watched as the limb spun and clattered across the floor, leaving splatters of blood in its wake. Doreah was crying hysterically by now, whimpering and begging with Daenerys to spare them, but their khaleesi appeared deaf to the girl's words.

"Vile wench!" Xaro cried out in agony, spittle flying from his lips as his bloodshot eyes burned into her. He made a leap for Daenerys in his anger, a feral battle cry leaving his lips. Jorah acted quickly. He was fully aware in his mind of Daenerys' need for information from these traitors, yet in that instant all he could think of was saving the woman he loved, the queen he served. He chopped off Xaro's head, which made a sickening sound and rolled across the bed towards Rhaego who looked at it with interest.

"Dead," he piped up, reaching out with one hand to touch the face of the man who had helped kidnap his kin, "good." His childish lisp made the words sound distorted, innocent because of his tender years, sinister for their content. Jorah merely nodded, mute, and plucked the head from the young prince's reach, globules of blood raining down on the boy's outstretched hands.

Doreah now cried out, reaching out blood splattered hands towards the headless corpse and wailing in devastation.

Releasing her hold on the girl, Daenerys took a step back and watched her cry, expressionless in the face of the mingled snot and tears which ran down the girl's once-pretty face with abandon.

Once the initial screaming and wailing had subsided, when Doreah was reduced to a quivering heap on the bed sheets, her makeup streaked down her cheeks and neck, her eyes blotchy and red, Daenerys spoke. Her voice was sharp like steel, her eyes hard, utterly without pity for the broken woman before her, the woman she had called friend.

"What did he give you that I could not?" she demanded.

Incoherent mumbles amidst the quietened sobs were all that answered her. She decided she did not care in truth, what was done was done.

"You killed Irri," she accused, her voice breaking for a moment with the fresh pain of her loss. This brought a stronger wave of sobbing from Doreah, but no words that could be deciphered. No defenses, excuses or refusals. No lies.

Very well, this wretched creature would pay for that but all in good time. For now the important thing was-

"Mine dragons," Rhaego clambered onto the bed, using the tousled sheets to aid him and staring down at her. There was no pity in his eyes, only an anger deeper than even her own. His voice, high and sweet as it still was, held a note of menace, causing Doreah to look up to the boy she had cared for with uncertainty flickering through her eyes, shocked out of her hysteria.

She frowned and said nothing, the aftermath of her sobs still convulsing through her body.

Daenerys watched with interest as Rhaego rounded on her, crawling on all fours now as his legs were too unstable on the soft, unsteady surface of the mattress. "Mine dragons," he demanded again, his eyes boring into hers with a concentration at odds with his age. When she remained silent his eyes rolled back in his head and Doreah began to tremble, whimpering and bringing her hands to her head suddenly.

Jorah had seen enough, uncertain what this scene meant but knowing it terrified him at some primal level. He reached out to Rhaego and whispered "that's enough my prince, allow me to get the information you seek."

Rhaego shuddered slightly and his eyes opened fully once more, his large lilac eyes guileless as they turned to meet Jorah's. He spared no glance for Doreah, who moaned softly and held tight to her temples as if still reeling from some agony unseen, and allowed himself to be taken into Jorah's arms without argument.

Jorah looked to Daenerys over the boy's head, confusion over what they had witnessed mirrored in her own gaze, slightly sobering the queen's bloodlust. Yet that confusion would keep for another day, for now they had information to gather. "Go look after Nagis," Jorah suggested to the boy, who nodded slowly and toddled away when Jorah lowered him down.

"He is stronger than I had ever imagined," Daenerys confided softly, fear evident behind her eyes, before returning her attention to Doreah and the matter at hand.

Jorah merely nodded, having no words to comment on what they had just witnessed. He was not certain he understood it properly, or even if he wanted to understand. A question which had niggled at him since the boy's birth from flames resounded in his mind once more: what was this child?

After a few more minutes of trying in vain to question the handmaiden, Jorah noticed Nagis hovering uncertainly at the entrance to the bed chambers.

"What is wrong, girl?" he asked, taking note of the uncomfortable look on her face.

"I-Well, I just thought you should know what Rhaego said." Her eyes flickered nervously between the blood stains, the decapitated corpse and strewn head, Doreah and Daenerys before continuing with a steadying breath. "He said the Warlock has them. Pree. Has the dragons. They're there." Her speech was rushed, her hands fidgeting and her face unnaturally pale, yet even after her message was delivered she did not flee but stayed to bow before Daenerys and await her instructions. Ever faithful.

Yet Doreah had appeared faithful, he frowned and chased such thoughts from his mind.

"Pree?" Daenerys asked, nodding slowly as the pieces of the conspiracy under her nose slotted together. "Excellent work, Nagis, you may go sweet one." With that Nagis scraped another hasty bow and scampered out of the room to Rhaego as fast as her legs could carry her. Then Daenerys turned to Jorah, a cold smile on her face. "We shall pay this Warlock a visit, bring the corpse and the traitor with us Jorah, for my babies will be hungry and soon they shall feast." At this Doreah whimpered and bolted for the door on quivering legs, not getting very far as Jorah reached out with a flash of his arm to detain her. The more she struggled the tighter he gripped until his fingers dug into her skin like a vice of steel, leaving marks up and down her arms until she lost her will and slumped to the floor at his side.

"Danerys please," she begged plaintively, her voice thick with sobs and her eyes large. Daenerys did not deign to reply. "Khaleesi...forgive me..."

He forced his eyes away from her, lest her naked and pitiful state elicit his sympathy. She was already dead, he told himself. As befit a traitor. His gut curdled and he steeled himself. As befit him.

Yet he was more use to Daenerys alive than dead, and he was determined to repay his own treachery with utility until she saw fit to discard him, too.

Daenerys, however, felt no qualms as she looked down on Doreah, disgust evident in her eyes. The sting of betrayal had been a shock but where at first she had felt hurt, now she only felt the slow burning fire of vengeance as it welled up in her gut. Her dragons would tear Doreah piece from piece, Irri would be avenged and the traitor and any pain she had caused would be no more.

"Dany, I'm so sorry." Doreah reached a hand out for Daenerys, her eyes welling with unshed tears once more, but Daenerys snatched herself from the wretched creatures grasp and turned from her sight. Doreah succumbed to a fresh wave of sobs and Jorah had to harden his heart once more.

"Let us go at once." She walked from that bedchamber and its smell of blood and sweat and semen, Jorah following with the traitor in hand. "Rhaego darling." She knelt to smile at him in the airy antechamber, "come, we shall go reclaim our dragons."

His little face lit up and he toddler after her happily, reaching up with his chubby, sticky, bloodied hand to take hers. She gave him a squeeze.

Pree would feel the wrath of dragons rain down upon him with blood and fire.

Doreah's frantic pleas echoed around the corridors as she was led none too delicately through the villa. She knew where they were headed and what her fate would be so she begged and when that failed bit and scratched and kicked in her desperation, all to no avail. In the end Daenerys lost patience and ordered Jorah to silence her, which he did dutifully with a blow to the back of the head. All grew quiet as she lay limp in his arms, for the time being at least. She would wake up soon enough, in time to experience her fate.

"Dory bad," Rhaego scowled as her screams were silenced.

"The dragons will soon eat Doreah," Daenerys promised. Her voice was flat now, void of emotion.

Nagis recoiled upon hearing this while Jorah kept his eyes fixed ahead. The Targaryens smiled.


	20. The House of the Undying

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
**Reply to guest reviews:** (if you have an account and I stupidly haven't replied to your review, I'm really sorry. I will try to remember to reply to them all, I know I always mean to as they mean so much to me)  
Roncon911 ~ Thank you so much for that review, I'm really glad you enjoyed the update, here's another :)  
Guest who reviewed chapter 18 #1 ~ Heheh death to the traitors is definitely on its way ;)  
Guest who reviewed chapter 18 #2 ~ I'm glad you like the changing timeline idea. I'm so excited to have some fun with it!_

* * *

_**Chapter Seventeen:  
**_The House of the Undying

* * *

Rhaellath woke and cried out plaintively for her brothers, her head felt fuzzy and heavy to lift but her soul soared as she recalled their communion with Rhaego. Their brother would find them, their mother would make the Warlock pay.

Yes, he would pay,_ With Fire and Blood. _The ancient words coursed through her mind and she purred, a low, rumbling sound. _"Brothers, arise, our victory draws near."_

They began to stir, groggy and slow of movement, their spindly limbs weak with hunger. Their once glorious wings and scales had become dulled by lack of food and grooming. The proud dragons, reduced to this, it angered her greatly but for now she would clamp down on such feelings, better to revel in them upon their victory than succumb to impotent bitterness.

_"Rhaego comes for us."_ It was half statement half question, as Drogon rolled over and worked on stretching out his weary limbs.

She did not know for certain but had to hope. _"He comes,"_ she replied.

Viserion sent a trickle of relief through their bond, he did not have the strength to do more. Rhaellath sent him some of her own reserves of mental energy and this perked him up slightly, as she began to feel her own mind wilt from fatigue.

They had been sharing out their strength reserves through their psychic link and it was beginning to take its toll, even between the three of them there was only so much strength to go around and the three dragons knew that theirs was coming to an end. Unless they could flame the meat chunks through to make them edible and replenish their energy supplies. They had refused to try before, when they had the strength to do so, as they knew that as their own strength faded so, too, would the Warlock's.

Now, however, they would need every ounce of strength they could muster to help mother and Rhaego, yet they were too weak to flame the meat needed to strengthen themselves.

Drogon made a few pitiful attempts at flames before slumping to the ground. Rhaellath and Viserion did not even have the energy for an attempt.

_"Give me all of your strength,"_ Drogon suddenly demanded in his gruff manner.

Viserion's immediate reaction was to send a wave of refusal towards the larger creature, indignant and stubborn, yet Rhaellath saw the merit in his plan. Were he to succeed.

It was a gamble. If he could flame enough meat to feed them all, even enough to take the edge from their hunger pangs, they would be in a far stronger position. Yet if they sent their strength to Drogon and it was not enough they would be in real trouble as three conscious dragons, no matter how weak, were still better than one conscious but slightly stronger dragon.

Weighing up their options for a moment Rhaellath decided the risk was worth it. _"Are you sure you can do it?"_ she sent hesitantly.

A proud tilt of the head and widening of nostrils was all the reply she received. It was enough.

_"I am willing."_

Viserion bared his teeth. _"And if I am not?"_

Rhaellath bore him down with her gold flecked eyes, _"you do not eat."_

Viserion turned his head in the direction of the days old rotting meat and met her stare. _"I am not sure I would fare better for eating, the pile decays sister."_

_"A dragon's stomach is not so easily put off, we would manage and have strength to help Rhaego and mother."_

This was met with silence and Rhaellath could feel Viserion chewing this over in his mind. _"For mother and Rhaego,"_ he finally sent, resigned to the plan at last.

Drogon merely snorted, glad they had finally trusted to his plan. After a moment he felt his siblings' strength course through him and, ignoring them as they simultaneously dropped to the ground unconscious, he began to flame the stinking hunks of animal flesh until they were edible. Or the closest to edible they could possibly become.

It was long, tedious work but he mustered all of his power and before his strength was spent there were enough chunks flamed through for the three of them to sate their hunger slightly. It was no feast but their risk had paid off. Setting upon the nearest chunk of meat, he ate. Once he had taken his portion he sent strength through the link to Rhaellath who in turn woke and ate before returning strength to Viserion.

They were still not strong, but as they curled up on the filthy, cold stone to digest their meals, they felt warmth spreading through their bodies for the first time in days and their minds felt sharper already.

_"Well done, Drogon,"_ Rhaellath sent, feeling hopeful and content for the first time in a while. That rotting meat had been the taste of a slight victory for the dragons, with the hope of more to follow.

Drogon made no response, drowsy with their meal.

A fly, its gorged, bulbous body comical in relation to its stubby wings, hovered over Rhaellath with its infuriating buzz. Many times in the last few days had they been plagued by the creatures, more so as the meat rotted, and lately they had lacked the strength to slap them away with a swish of a tail when they came too close. No longer. Rhaellath struck out with her head, her neck extending to its longest, and she clamped down on the pest with razor sharp teeth, feeling a satisfaction from the sudden quiet and feeling the crunch as she bit down on the fly.

It stayed stuck between her teeth for a little while, its crunchy exoskeleton wedged between a tight gap, until she lazily picked it out with her claws.

It tasted bad, but no worse than the meat from which it had feasted.

Mother and Rhaego would be here soon. She blinked her eyes slowly and pictured their victory over the shriveled old man who fancied himself powerful. Until she felt the touch of their minds, though, she would do as her brothers did and sleep. Even in her dreams she would sense their coming and she would be ready.

She just hoped they would prevail.

In that moment a familiar pang rose up inside her as she wished that she were as strong as her brothers. It seemed that they had advanced quicker than she in the dragonly arts, with Viserion managing small flights of five to ten wing span's length and Drogon's increasing flaming skills. While she still lagged behind in both.

In her fragmented memories it had been the female dragons, known as queens, who were the most powerful of the species. Yet powerful in what way she could not pinpoint. This half knowledge irked her and sleep eluded her as she chewed this over in her mind.

Then, _"mother?"_ She felt a presence, familiar and warming, and her brothers bolted upright from their slumber.

_"Mother?"_ They reached out as one.

She had come for them.

* * *

Daenerys entered, stony faced and flanked by her son, her knight and her young handmaiden. The traitors, one dead and one alive, were dragged behind them in chains, the clanking of the metal as they were tugged towards their fate drowned out the frantic beating of her heart.

She entered the place, known to these people as the House of the Undying, and felt the servants stare in silence, with scared round eyes and hallowed cheeks. No one made a move to stop her, eyeing the sword at Jorah's hip warily and watching with grim fascination as Doreah and the corpse were dragged through their master's walls, a trail of clotted blood in their wake.

Daenerys had a faint sense of where she should go and the others followed her without question as she led them through this maze of a house, winding corridor after winding corridor.

They had not made it far, however, before the warlock himself appeared before them as if from no where. Daenerys froze and Rhaego's expression of anger was fierce as he locked eyes for a moment with the man.

Pree's eyes flickered to their captives, taking in the decapitated corpse and the naked woman with only a quirk of his eyebrow. "So I see my missive did not reach them in time," he commented calmly, as if making note of the weather or the taste of a meal.

"It did not," Daenerys replied stonily. She stood still, surrounded by her people and waited for him to make the next move.

"A shame." He shrugged.

A shiver ran up Daenerys' spine at his dismissal of such things. She had expected, anticipated with dark pleasure, that this small man would cower before her in the knowledge of his defeat. Anger welled up in her at his arrogance but she quelled it, determined that if he meant to elicit some kind of reaction she would not give him the satisfaction. It would not do to play into his hands.

"Take me to my dragons, warlock," she commanded, her voice sharp as Valyrian steel, "and you may be permitted your head."

She made no promises that he would be alive to enjoy it.

Pree merely smiled, a sickly smile which curdled her stomach. "My house is big and full of wonders," he rasped. "Come and find them."

With that he threw down a handful of coloured powder which crackled with static and dispersed all around him. Daenerys blinked at the bright light of a handful of miniature explosions and an instant later when she opened her eyes the man was gone. Rhaego rubbed his head and Daenerys placed a hand on his silken hair, reassuring herself that he was still there. Still alright.

"Jorah?" she queried, unnerved. Splotches of vibrant colour still danced behind her eyelids from the miniature explosions but she refused to show any disorientation and the afterimages soon receded.

"I-I don't know, I have never seen such magic but the Warlocks were renowned for such tricks in the age of heroes when magic flowed through their veins." He wore a concerned expression but Daenerys relaxed.

"If parlour tricks are all he has up his sleeve, I am not afraid."

Jorah reached out a hand and clasped her forearm. "Do not underestimate this man, khaleesi."

She nodded and he dropped his arm to his side, relieved with her response. "Which way?" he asked.

Before she could answer Rhaego piped up, "there."

Daenerys nodded in agreement. "We sense our dragons, my son is correct."

So they headed off again through ever darkening corridors which seemed like they would never end, following Rhaego on his unsteady legs at a painfully slow pace. Daenerys grew impatient to see the dragons, so close were they now, but Rhaego always refused to be carried and so they inched forward.

They tried to reach out to the dragons with their minds, close as they were, yet something powerful blocked any communion between them and dread settled in Daenerys as she realised that this power was Pree. She could feel Rhaego's attempts bouncing off the man's mind as he tried desperately to send thoughts to the dragons and as their frustration grew, so too did their anger. Daenerys pressed down on it, knowing she would need to be calm and collected to think clearly and defeat Pree, yet she could feel the roiling waves of rage as they flowed from her son and hoped he would not do anything rash.

They came to a strangely carved door, inscribed with hieroglyphs of a language she did not recognise, ancient and cursive in its script. She paused by it and reached out to run a hand delicately over it, forgetting herself in a moment of awe. The moment the pads of her fingertips came into contact with the wizened wood it began to slowly creak open and Daenerys started.

She turned to share a glance with Jorah, but he was awestruck by something he spied inside and he walked wordlessly past her into the room, dragging the captives behind him, his expression slack and his eyes shining, filled with wonder.

She shivered as the icy fingers of breeze from inside the room caressed her bare shoulders.

Nagis, her expression lighting drastically, tears pricking at the sides of her eyes, bolted through the doors a moment later. "Mother! Alexis!" she whispered in shock as she passed Rhaego and Daenerys. Rhaego watched her go with wide eyes and placed his fingers in his mouth, suddenly looking the toddler and not the prince.

"'Gis?" he mumbled, looking lost without the girl by his side.

Daenerys reached down to grasp his hand in her own. "The dragons are not this way but we must go get our friends. Shall we go after them together?"

Rhaego nodded slowly, his hand sweaty in hers. They walked slowly together through the doors and felt the chill engulf them.

They had not taken many steps through the musty, dark room before they found themselves engulfed in a blinding light. When their eyes adjusted they saw that they were now in a wooden structure set in what appeared to be a hazy field, the scent of a summer's breeze wafting over them. It was too idyllic, a place with a dreamlike quality to it and Daenerys felt her mind slackening as if the razor sharp focus and determination she had to find the dragons was slipping away, like grains of sand through outstretched fingers. She clutched Rhaego's hand sharply in her own and forced her mind to remain alert.

What strange magic was this?

At a noise she turned around, away from the field and looked inwards behind her, where she gasped in surprise to see five figures standing behind them. A man, surrounded by two women and two children. The man was the one who drew her eyes, though, with his wisps of platinum hair and startling violet eyes she knew that she knew him, or should know him. They were connected.

"Sister," he greeted warmly, holding out a hand to her and smiling.

Yes, she knew him. "R-Rhaegar?" she faltered, walking over to him with tentative steps, her son trailing behind curiously.

"It is I." He nodded and bowed courteously. "I have waited half a lifetime to look on your face, the dragon reborn."

She felt her cheek flush under his praise and returned his smile fully. "I have always wished to know you, too. Would that things had been different."

As she approached she took in the other faces around them. She had been so busy drinking up every detail of her brother, from his high cheekbones and luminous eyes to his sharp, pointed chin and high forehead, with the greed of a lifetime that she had not paid them heed and was shocked to see the infamous Stark girl among them. Immediately she recoiled, an expression of horror flitting across her face before she could stop herself.

The wolf girl had the grace to look apologetic but met Daenerys' stare unwavering. "You," Daenerys accused spluttering the one word with the venom of a lifetime's hatred.

Rhaegar stepped between them protectively as Lyanna gaped at Daenerys with wide eyes, taken aback by this hostility from someone she had never met in life. "Do not blame Ly for the hardships our family suffered, sister. She was a victim of the war as much as anyone."

"You defend this she wolf?" Daenerys demanded, shock now replacing animosity as her mind struggled to catch up with these strange events. All her life she had been told of the evils of this she-devil who seduced her brother and set the realms to tear each other apart. How then could her brother defend such a creature. She had been the death of him, of his children, of his whole family.

The other woman, tall and pale and delicate in her beauty, placed a hand on the Stark and looked down at Daenerys with imploring eyes. "Hold no anger for her, child, theirs was a love that could not be denied." The woman spoke sadly, earnestly and with feeling. It then clicked, more slowly than it should have done Daenerys admitted to herself, who this last woman must be.

"Princess Elia," she gasped before looking to the children and feeling a heartbreak as fresh as when she had first been deemed old enough to hear the tragic tale of the Dornish princess and her children. "Aegon, Rhaenys..." Tears welled up in her eyes as Elia nodded with such dignity that Daenerys was awed. "_You_ defend this woman?" she asked, beyond incredulous now.

Elia gave Lyanna a sad smile. "I do."

"Had I but known," Lyanna began, her voice breaking as pains of years past were made fresh. "The price was too high." She spared a pained glance at the children and squeezed her eyes shut, as if recalling the horrific events which her actions brought about.

Rhaegar took her under his arm and kissed her forehead protectively. "Hindsight offers perfect vision, it is easy for those who come after to judge. Yet how were we to know, my love?"

Lyanna nodded and a slight sniff escaped her before she steeled herself and met Daenerys' eyes once more. "I am truly sorry."

They were words. Not a crown to right the wrongs done to her family, not a childhood growing up with all she was due, not an older brother to shield her from the harsh realities of the world and the harsh hands of Viserys, not a way to bring back her family, yet in that moment they were strangely enough.

Daenerys felt a lump rise in her throat and she nodded to the woman, unable to speak for fear her voice would break.

"A'nty?" Rhaenys was suddenly at her side and Daenerys looked down at the bright eyed waif of a child who clutched her free hand. She offered a wobbly smile and the girl beamed back up at her. "You're so pretty, I wish I could play with your hair."

"You are so pretty too." Her voice was thick with unshed tears as she looked down at the niece she could have had. She would have been older than Daenerys by years in reality, yet that never stopped Daenerys imagining her as a child still, as when she had been cut down.

Rhaego toddled up to Rhaenys and the two cousins smiled at each other, Rhaenys deciding to drag Rhaego over to see Aegon, still a babe in swaddling.

"We must go, sister," Rhaegar said reluctantly, "but before we do there are things we must tell you. Important things."

Her mind was already reeling from this unnatural meeting, her worldview as it had once been now turned on its head. "What things?" she asked weakly.

"You are not the only Targaryen," he replied.

She shook her head in disbelief, "but brother, no one escaped the sack of King's Landing but us, and Viserys died years later. I watched with my own eyes. Rhaego and I, we are truly the last."

"No," Rhaegar smiled wistfully. "There are two bastards."

"Two?" This was a revelation indeed, yet it changed nothing for bastards could not inherit nor wield any true power in the name of her house. She was the only true Targaryen. Although in these strange days, could she legitimise them anyway, to reign by her side or have a place on her council? Only if they were highborn she decided, no amount of need could justify calling on baseborn bastards to sully the Targaryen name.

"Two highborn bastards," he clarified as though reading her thoughts. "A Stark and a Lannister."

Had he told her they had a half human, half horse bastard she could not have been more shocked. "Starks destroyed us and Lannisters betrayed us." She spared Lyanna a glance by way of apology for her harsh words, but she had lived her whole life in a world where those powerful families between them had demolished her house and put a tyrant on their rightful throne.

Rhaegar frowned. "Sister, heed my words. Look for these bastards, the child of myself and Lyanna is the boy by name of Jon Snow, known to all as Eddard Stark's bastard to protect his identity. Not even he knows his own true blood. He is the prince who was promised." He looked sadly down at the crib where his youngest lay cooing in swaddling clothes, glancing up at his sister and cousin. "I had thought Aegon to be the prince of that prophesy but now I know differently. Find him, he is destined to help you. The other is the imp, born of Joanna Lannister and our father, who also has no idea of his Targaryen birthright. Both will be assets to you in the days to come."

The notorious bastard and the devious imp. "I have no need of half men or bastards," she snapped. "Keep your prophesies, brother."

Lyanna's eyes flashed. "That bastard is my son, dismiss him to your loss."

Rhaegar laughed indulgently at the women's flashes of temper. "Both so fiery," he grinned. "My world would have been interesting, filled with the two of you."

Lyanna smiled sheepishly at Daenerys at this and Elia laughed out loud, a gentle, tinkling sound which immediately lightened the mood. Daenerys could not help but break out in a small smile. "Your spirit would have brightened up the women's rooms, Daenerys. I watch you often and regret that our destinies did not pass in the land of the living." Elia reached out and stroked Daenerys' cheek with unexpected tenderness, disarming her. "You would have made an excellent sister."

"And you, I feel," she replied, the lump in her throat returning. It was said of the Dornish princess that she had always been gentle of manner and filled with compassion. Looking into those doe like eyes, free from malice even for the woman who stole her husband, Daenerys knew such words to be true. She was not certain she would have been so generous, had she been in Elia's position. A remarkable woman, indeed.

"But I have Lyanna for now," Elia shrugged cheerfully.

Rhaegar laughed, "between these two, sister, I never get a moment's peace!"

Lyanna grinned, dimples appearing at either side of her mouth, and winked at Elia. While she could accept that Elia would forgive Lyanna, gentle of heart as she was, it still shocked Daenerys beyond measure to see the women so amiable together, sharing laughter and smiles. Maybe in the land after petty squabbles over husbands lose their potency, maybe there is true harmony and rejoicing in the land of the dead, enough to make up for the misery and strife in the land of the living.

Rhaego looked up at her from where he hovered over baby Aegon's cot and grinned. "Baby," he informed her happily, before turning back to fuss over the infant with his cousin.

"We must depart, there is someone else who awaits you, Dany, and he is very insistent." Rhaegar smiled sadly and reached out to stroke a lock of her hair, fading gently and smiling in farewell. She reached out a hand to touch where he had been, but he was there no longer. Rhaego cried out as he watched his cousins dissipate and turned large eyes to her in confusion.

"Baby?"

She smiled sadly down at him. "Baby has gone."

She braced herself for what was next, hoping it was not Viserys who wanted to see her. She could only imagine the choice words he would have for her, the anger and aggression.

A figure materialised before then, larger than life and fierce.

Daenerys felt a cry escape her lips, half parts pain and half pleasure for there standing tall, proud and bronze before them was Drogo. Her sun and stars.

His eyes were warm as he rushed forward to embrace her, his voice gruff. "Moon of my life." He picked her up in his huge arms, the heat of the lifeblood flowing through his veins warming her, and before she could stop them she felt the tears flow.

"My sun and stars?" she asked, her voice thick.

"Yes. I will always come back for you," he whispered into her hair, his breath tickling her ear.

"How is this happening Drogo?" she asked him the question she had not thought to ask her brother. "You died. The Great Stallion himself plucked you from my arms." She clung tight to him and he let out a booming laugh.

"Fuck the Great Stallion."

She pulled away slightly and her heart soared to see that mischievous grin on his face, the one which made him appear boyish, the one he saved only for her. Her heart contracted painfully.

"Fuck them all," he spoke softly now, his face somber as he drew her back to him once more, planting firm kissed over her hair and brow. She nodded into his chest and felt the painful lump well up in her throat, the one which threatened to consume her whenever she thought of Drogo, but swallowed it down with difficulty. They held each other like that for a time until Rhaego tugged insistently at her skirts.

"Dragons," he reminded her, a small crease across his forehead showing his impatience.

_Fuck them_, she almost retorted, loathe to have anything disrupt this reunion with the love of her life. Then she remembered herself and why they were there and shook her head, unable to believe that whatever magic this was, it had snared her so easily into its web. She nodded reluctantly at her son. "One moment, Rhaego."

Drogo glanced down at the boy then, a tender expression covering his face. "Rhaego," he murmured softly, tasting out the name with reverence.

Rhaego looked up at him with his large almond shaped eyes and blinked slowly.

Drogo let go of Daenerys and, bending down, scooped up the child into his arms. There, they appraised one another and a spark of recognition lit in her son's eyes. "Kepa?" _Father_?

Drogo's brow knit together at the strange, unfamiliar word while Daenerys smiled softly. "Yes, this is your father."

It was the hardest thing she ever had to do, to look at her husband holding her son and willingly pluck Rhaego back into her arms and turn her back on her sun and stars. "We must leave you, my love." She could not look at him again or she would lose her will.

A grunt was all the response she received. She pictured the abrupt nod which accompanied it in her mind's eyes and clenched her fists with the effort of not turning back into his arms. Had she turned she would have seen Drogo reach out a hand to touch her one last time, to stroke a lock of her silken hair, but she did not and, squeezing her eyes shut tightly to keep the tears from flowing, she walked away from him. His hand faded before he could touch her, the tears threatening to overflow from his dark eyes never even had a chance to be shed. A sob racked her body and she walked away with purpose, clutching Rhaego to her closely, inhaling the spiced scent of his hair to ground her in the present as her past was left behind.

"I love you," she whispered to the empty room as the light faded and she found herself back in the dark room they had originally entered. The chill bit at her bones and she let out a shuddering sigh. He was gone, she had lost him again. Only this time by choice. _I'm so sorry, my sun and stars._

She took a moment to compose herself, allowing her eyes to get used to the darkness once more, before walking over to the outlines of Jorah and Nagis who appeared to be in some sort of trance, similar to what she imagined they had been in. With a gentle shake of their shoulders and a few minutes for them to return to her and adjust, they were back and she made them leave the strange, haunted room quickly, without looking back. All were silent as they continued in their progress through the maze of the villa, their eyes distant and unfocused.

Daenerys hoped none of them noticed the tears that ran unchecked down her face, but then she looked around and saw that all apart from Rhaego were silently crying also.

She had never seen Jorah cry.

She made herself focus instead on the dragons, her children, and before long it worked and she was no longer distraught and distracted. Damn Pree and this place of wonders, it was a clever game he played but she would not succumb.

Yet, she could not help but wonder on the things her brother had told her. Could it have been truth? Was it merely a hallucination with Pree feeding her misinformation, or could it be true?

Tyrion...Jon...

When they escaped this place and had their victory she would ask Jorah of them.

Jon...Tyrion... A Stark and a Lannister. Her nephew and brother.

She had to admit deep down the thought of family drew her. All of her life she had daydreamed about having a family to call her own, besides Viserys. Yet she knew in her mind that those were merely the hollow fantasies born of a lonely, displaced childhood. The reality of these men who were tied to her by illegitimate blood could be even more cold and disappointing than Viserys. At least he had been a Targaryen in full. Her true brother.

To make bed with these men, with loyalties to houses which destroyed her own, would be like bedding scorpions; she would be a fool not to expect to get stung.

She frowned and filed such musings away for later, needing to focus all of her mind on rescuing her dragons now. These matters could wait.

_"I am coming for you, my children, stay strong,"_ she sent, hoping her words would get through. She could feel their presence stronger now, would that they could feel her too.

* * *

Pree scowled, the papyrus thin skin stretching over his skeletal features as his eyebrows knit together. Bile rose in his throat at the thought that his first plan had failed. The House of the Undying's sacred inner chambers had been such a promising shot but that wretched woman had come through the other end. The dragons had also fed, he could feel the increased strength emanating from them which fed his own powers but also worried him.

Nevertheless, if one of his magic chambers did not do the trick, he would have to be a little bit creative.

He smirked and drew in on himself, focusing his mind pointedly and crafting a new game for the Dothraki whore and her whelp. He hoped they liked games, he himself was quite partial to them.

Truth be told he didn't want to have to use the full brunt of his power yet, untested and possibly unstable as the were. He would, of course, should it come to that, but it would be so much more fun just to outwit them and save his full energy for her son and dragons. They would need a lot of power to bring to heel, he knew.

And he was ready, or as ready as he would ever be.

"My house is big and full of wonders, dragon prince," he murmured as a smug smile touched his lips. "Come and find them, if you can."

From half a house away, Rhaego shuddered.

* * *

_**Author's** **Note:** This is a bit of a long chapter. I enjoyed writing it and didn't know when to stop, I guess.  
I took a LOT of liberties with the whole House of the Undying scenes, I'm sorry. It's pretty much not at all how it goes in canon but bear with me, I'm slowly saying _sayonara_ to canon and branching out. I just hope it works well and the characters of Rhaegar, Elia and Lyanna weren't too OOC.  
My main thought with doing a House of the Undying scene was that I wanted to give this chance to chat with Rhaegar and co., partially so I could add this theory, but loads of people asked for a Drogo meeting in there too so that's maybe why this went on a bit. I kinda like it though :)_  
_I hope it's okay, it's one I've looked forward to writing for a little while now as a kind of interlude. It also adds both a now-proven theory but also a highly speculative theory to the mix. Thoughts or opinions on that are, as always, welcome.  
Tyrion is one of my favourite characters and there is a lot of evidence I have seen to back up this theory, I'd be happy to discuss it further if anyone is like "why would you even give this theory credit?!" or has an interest in it.  
_


	21. Whispers in the Dark

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_..._

* * *

_**Chapter Eighteen:  
**_Whispers in the Dark

* * *

They were getting closer, Rhaego could sense it.

They came to a locked door which thrummed with something at once alluring and terror inspiring, and Daenerys held him back before he could approach it.

"I can feel something inside there, a dark presence," she whispered. Why she suddenly took to speaking so quietly, Rhaego did not know, although as the seconds passed he too could sense a chilling maleficence which seeped through the woodwork and seemed to call out to him. He could not deny the fear which grasped a hold of his chest, its icy fingers snaking down into his gut and making him cower behind his mother's skirts. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, but he knew it was the only way to get to his dragons and so he stayed rooted to the spot.

"Khaleesi?" Jorah questioned. Clearly he felt no such thing.

"Can't you feel that?" she asked, her eyes widening as the thrumming grew louder.

It knows we're here, Rhaego realised with dread.

"Muna," he whimpered, hating how pathetic he sounded but unable to quench his need for the safety of her arms as she wrapped them protectively around him and lifted him up. He clung to her, wrapping his little arms as far around her shoulders as he could and inhaling the smell of her hair deeply, calming himself with effort.

"Don't worry, I will protect you," she reassured him. It did little to extinguish the terror in his stomach though, for he knew that hollow words and promises held no power against the terrors in the dark.

_"What's the matter, boy, don't like my pet?"_ A voice clattered into his mind, the sounds slightly distorted but the essence all too familiar. The familiar sensation, identical to the mind who had been blocking him from the dragons all this time.

Pree.

The Warlock had somehow tapped into the mental frequency which the dragons and Rhaego used for their communication, sneaking into his mind uninvited with his slick, sneaky voice.

_"Release my dragons,"_ Rhaego demanded, his anger making him bold despite the heady taste of fear, metallic and raw in his mouth.

There was no response save a roiling smug amusement, and soon the sense of Pree bearing down on his mind had evaporated followed quickly by the strength of his anger until he was left with only the panic from before as the darkness clawed at his mind from behind the door. He brought his fingers up to his mouth in a nervous habit and buried his face into the crook of his mother's neck, whimpering softly as the strength of the darkness grew.

"What is wrong, my prince?" sweet Nagis asked, perching on the tips of her toes so that she could place a reassuring hand over his bunched up fist.

"Bad," he told her, his voice strained.

Her eyes flitted between his earnest expression and the door, wondering what it was that affected him and Daenerys so much. Not being able to discern anything, she raised an apologetic eyebrow and gave a smile. "If we stick together, we will be fine."

He nodded, unconvinced, wishing he could believe her simple words. She squeezed his fist in her calloused hand and stuck next to Daenerys and Rhaego firmly as the queen decided on their next move. There was never an option in Rhaego's mind, the darkness would have to be faced as they could not turn their backs on the dragons. He just wished he could draw strength from their bond now for he was trembling all over with fear.

"Whatever Pree throws at us," Nagis whispered fiercely, feeling the shake of his hand under hers, "we shall defeat it. You are dragon, my prince. You can face anything."

Her words and the determined glint in her liquid brown eyes heartened him and he smiled down into her face, drawing strength from her courage as he usually would his dragons. "'Gis a dragon," he said, bursting with pride for the quiet girl who had been his most faithful companion and had grown so fierce and strong in such a small time. "Zaldrīzes-Ītsos." _Little_ _dragon_. Like him.

She flushed with pride and he felt the fear dissipate as he gazed into her face.

"We will get your dragons back, Rhaego," she promised heatedly, forgetting herself to his delight. She had never used his name, only his title, and hearing her say this he grinned foolishly.

Daenerys, who had watched this exchange with a secretive smile, nodded and placed a hand on the girl's head affectionately. "Thank you for your courage, Nagis," she murmured. "Let's face whatever Pree has in store for us. Together."

Nagis' smile split her face at Daenerys' words and she nodded enthusiastically. Rhaego motioned for his mother to place him back down, determined to be brave and walk ahead on his own two feet. At Nagis' side. As they faced the door about to enter, he felt the grasping of the darkness and his resolve wavered. He reached across the space between himself and the slave girl and took her hand in his slick, sweaty paw nervously. She smiled down at him, bashfully, and clutched his hand tight in her own, feeding strength into him as they held tight to each other.

"I've got you," she whispered as Daenerys reached out to open the ominous door before them. "Fear cuts deeper than the sword." Rhaego looked at her quizzically. "My grandfather said so, anyway. He was a water dancer."

He had no idea what that was, and secretly he thought it didn't sound very impressive, but the words sounded bold so he gulped down the lump in his throat and armoured himself in their strength.

Fear cuts deeper than swords.

He took an unsteady step, placing his feet one before the other with effort.

Fear cuts deeper.

The door was fully open now and he felt a wall of darkness hit him, chasing the air from his lungs in a swift blow. Despite having braced himself he found himself staggering back under its weight and fell to his bottom, undignified and once more terrified, panting rapidly as a presence surrounded him.

"My prince!" Nagis lunged to the ground after him and covered him with her own body as the darkness swept over them, whipping her hair and howling in their ears like a hungry wraith.

Fear cuts deeper.

Taking deep breaths he calmed the frantic heartbeat in his chest, fighting down the terror as the shrieks and howls engulfed them. He heard Nagis whimper softly and held her close until the worst had passed. It felt like an eternity of terror.

"Rhaego." Danerys' voice was muffled, sounding distant and disconnected.

"Rhaego," Nagis whimpered. He could feel gentle hands on his face but the world slowly faded as the darkness subsided and took him with it.

"Hold him, it may be the shaking sickness again," Jorah suggested faintly. Then their words trickled away to nothing and Rhaego was hurled into oblivion.

Fear cuts deeper, he told himself in an effort to force his mind to grow calm as he felt the suffocating darkness crash in on him from all sides.

A pair of glowing eyes opened before him and he felt their knowing stare burn right through him, razing into his very soul. Slanted and fiery red, they appraised him. He reached out with his mind, hoping to identify this being, but was repelled with a strength which sent spikes of pain through his temples.

"My how we've waited for this day, Princeling of Dragons," the voice hissed softly, seeming to come from all around him. "Your birth brought magic back into the land, brought us back and returned to us our power, laying the whole world at our feet ripe for the taking. However we were captured by this human and bound to do his bidding, for now. That fool Pree feeds on our magic, thinking to keep us as a pet for his whims." Soft laughter filled the expanse and sent a chill across Rhaego's skin, prickling the hairs at the back of his neck. "Us, a pet!" The laughter grew and Rhaego shuffled nervously.

He felt the presence close in on him and let out a gasp as it pushed against his mind insistently.

What do you want with me? He longed to ask, but his words faltered and never left his tongue.

"The warlock was crafty, stealing the dragons and harnessing their power," the voice continued in velvet tones which brushed up against Rhaego softly. "Yet he underestimated us all, we think."

Rhaego felt he could agree with that. The warlock's days were numbered.

"For today he gave us," the tone of the strange voice then turned hard and sinister, causing Rhaego to flinch and cower, as the one word echoed around him, "_you_."

Rhaego stumbled backwards and swatted pointlessly at the nothingness in front of his face with feeble swipes of his hands, in an automatic response trying to defend himself from the owner of the menacing eyes and voice. The laughter rang out around him again and he whimpered.

Fear cuts deeper than swords, he told himself to no avail. Try as he might he could not fight down the terror welling up inside him, not alone. He needed the dragons, his mother, Jorah or Nagis. Alone he was just a frightened child.

The laughter grew and swarmed around him, filling his head.

"Muna!" he cried out pitifully, covering his ears with his hands and crouching to the ground in a ball. He could not drown out the laughter as the voices closed in on him.

"You are ours, Dragon Princeling, and with you we will become the most powerful in all the realms. All will fall before us and that warlock Pree will feel the brunt of our anger. But first," the voices turned strangely soothing and child like, sending shivers up Rhaego's spine, "we must devour you, little one. How strange that something so puny could hold the key to our power."

Through half closed eyes, Rhaego could make out the glowing eyes approach and he screamed.

_Dragons, mother, anyone please hear my cries and save me._

He could feel the dark presence pushing against his mind with more power now as it grew closer but then a different pain spiked through his whole body, drawing a feral scream from his lips as a heat like fire coursed through his veins. He had shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to witness his last moments, and so he did not see the pulsating glow which lit up the tracks of his veins and arteries, as if it were wildfire itself flowing with abandon to mingle with his very lifeblood.

The eyes narrowed and he felt the darkness recoil with an inhuman roar.

There was a long pause during which time Rhaego still would not open his eyes but his whimpering faded to silence as he realised that no harm had yet befallen him. The pain, too, had dulled to a throbbing ache and when he opened his eyes at last he saw that the searing agony had never been from the creature of shadows, but from the substance which lit up the pathways under his skin dazzlingly.

He gasped and traced a vein with a trembling finger, unsure of what this meant.

"He is a true dragon." The voice shook with awe and Rhaego looked up to meet those once fearsome eyes. They looked smaller. "We cannot eat him," it hissed with disdain. "What a waste. If he cannot be devoured and his power cannot be added to our own, we must destroy him."

The voice sounded uncertain and Rhaego picked himself up to his full height, small though he was, and glared right at the glowing eyes. It took all of his determination not to wet himself as he faced those eyes, but he held his own and glared at them as fiercely as he could, despite his knees knocking together in an un-princely manner.

"Try," he growled, confidence surging through him as he faced off this creature of shadows. The substance in his veins pulsed slightly and he felt a warmth seep through his mind, washing away his remaining fear. What did he have to be scared of, really? He was the child of a man with hair uncut; he was the child of a woman born of storms; he was the heir to a dynasty of fearsome kings; he was the prophesied stallion who mounts the world; and, most of all, he was Rhaego, brother to dragons. This wretched creature, whatever it may be, would be made to cower before him, for Rhaego would whimper no longer.

A peal of laughter, which sounded forced to Rhaego's mind, followed this challenge. "The night is dark and full of terrors," the voice purred dangerously.

Rhaego shivered, despite himself.

Clenching his fist and taking a moment to watch with fascination as the glowing lights snaked up and down his arm, he steeled himself.

Fear cuts deeper than swords.

He saw Nagis' face in his mind's eye, her bright, fierce eyes as they held his gaze, the set of her chin and shoulders as she squared up her own reserves of courage, and he felt stronger, bolstered by the memory of her bravery.

He thought of his mother and their dragons, reminded himself what he fought for, and in that instant the stabbing pains racked his body yet again as the pulsating light which flowed through him flickered and then all at once he felt an explosion surge from him, repelling the creature with an agonised scream and a hiss while causing a pain spiking through his mind so great that it engulfed him.

He felt himself lose consciousness once more.

Only this time, when he came to the only eyes staring down at him were the kindly ones of his mother, Jorah and Nagis. His head felt like it was on fire and all of his limbs ached and felt heavy, while behind his eyes it was as if spears of agony drove themselves into his brain, but he was alive and safe so he gave them all a weak smile.

"You're okay," Daenerys gushed, the worry of the last few minutes, or however long it had been in reality, were already etched deeply on her face. Nagis gave him a relieved smile and Jorah nodded.

He was too weak to respond and had to be carried through the room from which the dark creature had emerged, fear like a vice gripping him once again lest they come across it while he was in this state. Yet there was no sense of its presence as they passed through and both Rhaego and Daenerys sighed with relief.

However, as they were crossing the threshold at the other side of the room Rhaego felt a breath of cold air waft over his face and he turned himself in Jorah's arms with difficulty.

"You will face us again, dragon boy. You better hope you are as lucky next time." The voice washed over him and he shuddered, hoping they were wrong and he would never hear that horrible voice, or see those horrific eyes ever again.

_"I see you survived my pet,"_ Pree's mind was in his own, again. He groaned softly at this new invasion, too frail to repel the Warlock's stubborn words.

_"I did, but you won't,"_ he replied weakly, taking pleasure in breaking the news to the Warlock that his creature would turn on him, given the chance, even as the effort of communicating sent spikes of pain through his still raw mind.

"Rest, my prince," Jorah pleaded, jarring Rhaego back from the psychic link with Pree with his words. "You look like you need it."

Rhaego knew he was right and, brushing Pree's mind aside with the last reserves of his strength, he started to nestle into the knight's arms to find a more comfortable position. He would just rest his eyes slightly while staying awake until they found the dragons. He could not rest properly until then, he told himself.

He clearly underestimated the toll his encounters had taken for he soon found himself fast asleep, aware suddenly on a new level of the magic which permeated this villa, just waiting to be harnessed for either good or evil.

Too weakened in his unconscious state to wield it for his own use, he found himself drawing it into him without meaning to as he slept, bringing forth startling and vivid dreams while healing his mind slowly.

_Rhaego knows him, the man sitting there in a hazy room of bright tapestries and stone walls. His uncle, the man he had met earlier, with his shoulder length platinum hair and luminescent eyes the colour of mother's. He held in his arms the baby, the one he had delighted in watching before._

_Aegon, his cousin._

_Rhaego toddles over and gazes up at them both, tugging on Rhaegar's silk tunic to ask him what he was doing here. Again. Rhaegar does not seem to notice him, all of his focus drawn to the babe in his arms. Rhaego tugs again, getting frustrated, unused to being ignored. No one dares ignore him, usually. He is a prince._

_"Aegon, what better name for a king. He is the prince that was promised and his is the song of ice and fire." Rhaegar speaks softly, talking either to himself or the baby, and still he acts unaware of Rhaego's presence. Then, suddenly to Rhaego's surprise, Rhaegar's eyes meet his own and he says intently, "There must be one more. The dragon has three heads."_

He didn't know why but he felt in his heart somehow that these words held great importance. The dragon has three heads.

_Then, ignoring Rhaego once more and laying Aegon down in a crib, Rhaegar takes up a silver harp and begins to play a hauntingly sweet melody._

_One more what, though? Rhaego wants to ask. What do you mean with the three heads? He had three dragons, was that what he was talking about?_

_There is a wail of a baby in the next room and Rhaego, seeing his uncle and cousin have suddenly disappeared, runs towards the sound on unsteady legs, falling a few times but picking himself back up. He enters to a scene which turns his stomach, seeing the baby cousin he had so adored, albeit briefly, having his brains dashed out against a wall. Blood and chunks of brain fling carelessly around the room, littering the huge hands of a man the size of a mountain, and Rhaego makes to scream but finds his throat is muffled so no sound comes out._

_"Baby," he whimpers to himself as the wails are silenced. Watching with his own eyes as the promise of this prince is dashed across the room, anger wells up inside him, white hot and blinding. I will avenge you, sweet cousin. Tears prick in his eyes and blur his vision._

_He does not have time to think on it for the dreamscape changes with dizzying speed and an old man, older even than Jorah with a white beard and rheumy, light purple eyes is seated on a strangely deformed, twisted, prickly throne in a room bigger than Rhaego had ever seen with dragon skulls up and down the full length of its sides. He looks around him with wide eyes, glancing up at the dragon skulls which are huge, twenty times bigger than he, before watching the man on the throne._

_"Prepare to use the wild fire," the man orders, a quiet madness shining in his cloudy eyes. Spittle flies across the room as he speaks and Rhaego grimaces. Then the man stands up, far more quickly than his age should allow and slams his fist down upon the throne's arm rest, leaving a sticky trail of blood flowing down one side of it, snaking between the moulded swords. As he raises his quivering arm in the heat of his fury rivulets of blood are revealed as they wind down his arm, soiling the fine silk of his gowns. "Let him be the King of Ashes," he bellows across the room. His words reek, even to the young Rhaego, of the desperate act of an unstable man._

_Yet what does this mean? Who was this angry King and who was to be the King of Ashes? What did it have to do with Rhaego?_

_This vision, too, recedes and is instantly replaced by a dragon made of cloth, being cheered by people as it winds through the streets of the commoners, strutting around and making the simple folk believe it to be a true dragon. Rhaego scoffs, baffled that people could believe that this flimsy creation of men could be a true dragon, yet the crowd lap it up with raised arms and cries of adoration._

_"Aegon, Aegon."_

_Yet Aegon is dead. He saw it happen in his earlier dream vision._

_Smoke and mirrors, a voice whispers into his mind, not fire._

_Still they cry out their praise for him, this fabric creation. That is, until a true dragon comes along and sets fire to the cloth, burning it to ashes and causing the commoners to weep while proving to all around that this had never been anything more than a mummer's farce._

_Fire cannot kill a dragon. It is known._

_His mind thick, clouded with weariness, he struggles to think what these things might mean. As he wonders at it all, the colours of his dreamscape merge into a swirling cacophony of vivid chaos until all that is left is a throbbing mess of fluorescent lights, blinding him._

_Strange thoughts bombard him time and time again as he tries to make sense of all he has seen._

_The dragon has three heads._

_The cloth dragon was burned to dust._

_Fire cannot kill a dragon._

It was only after his mind had churned these ideas around repeatedly, until they was all that he could remember, that he was allowed to fall into a deep slumber, rocking gently in Jorah's arms as they made their way through more and more weaving corridors in their unending journey to free their dragons.


	22. Down the Hatch

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_..._

* * *

_**Chapter Nineteen:  
**_Down the Hatch

* * *

Nagis worried for Rhaego.

He had fallen unconscious again in what was becoming a worrying pattern, and now, despite being conscious once more he was so exhausted that his head lolled backwards in Jorah's arms and his mouth hung slightly agape, drool collecting in a corner ready to slide down across his cheek. She did not know what had befallen him during his black outs, these fits which seem to take his body into a frenzy and spirit his mind away to distant places where he cannot hear her voice, but she hated them.

All she did know was that she needed him, him and Daenerys, the beautiful and strange queen of a distant land, and she could not see him harmed. _Would_ not see him harmed. The life of a slave girl was cheap, she knew, yet the loyalty and love of a slave was a rare thing indeed, and Rhaego and Daenerys had earned her complete adoration.

She was young, yes, a girl of small years, and maybe naive in certain things, yet she was not ignorant of the life that awaited the likes of her. Man's grasping hands and women's stinging slaps, the drudgery of menial work and the burn of chastising blows.

Daenerys and Rhaego offered another life, though. A life which she craved with every fibre of her being.

She was devoted to the little prince and loved caring for him; she loved everything from playing with his dragons to listening to Daenerys talk of the future and the seven kingdoms of their realm. One day Nagis hoped to look upon those kingdoms and serve by Rhaego's side as he finally takes his rightful place as King. Such a glorious and truly magical day it would be and she often found herself daydreaming of it when she was preparing food or getting scolded for a task. She was a daydreamer by nature and such a promising future of adventure and grandeur was now a possibility for her, fueling her imagination no end.

She also knew that Rhaego's hands would never hurt her, that he would never allow someone to berate her with their words or punish her for small missteps, and in some ways this security was even more splendid to the girl than all of the kingdoms and majesty the fabled Westeros had to offer. She knew he would look after her, as she would him.

Always.

The urge to reach out and stroke his velvet cheek as he fell into a weary sleep was strong, but she held herself back with effort. He needed rest and she was confident Jorah would wake the boy when they finally reached the dragons, which she hoped would be soon as they had been searching for what seemed an endless amount of time. She tried not to let her fears get the better of her but something about this place sent shivers dance down her spine and with each step her nerves grew more and more frayed as she anxiously rounded each corner, imagining Pree's monsters to be lurking in the shadows. Even the atmosphere of the creaky old building made her feel like creeping bugs were slowly crawling across her bare skin and it was disgusting. She hated bugs.

Fear cuts deeper than the sword, she told herself, nibbling her lower lip nervously and always keeping just behind the valiant knight. The weight of the sinister power of this place, the revered House of the Undying, felt almost suffocating in some places, especially at the place where Rhaego had had his fit, while in the rest of the house it merely seemed to brush against her every now and again, as if testing her. It stood the hairs on the back of her neck up every time. Everyone had heard wild rumours of this place, tales told to scare children, but it was said that its magic had died generations ago stripping all true power and leaving a barren house filled with Warlocks wielding mere tricks in place of their former dark arts. Yet, being here and seeing things with her own eyes, she felt this was not the case.

This place was heavy with power, certainly dark magic was at work otherwise here how else would she have seen her mother and older sister, dead three long years now?

Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes as she recalled them. Before today their images had become faded in her memory, reduced to warm fuzzy smiles and soft words with the edges blurred from undefined faces. Today, though, she had seen them as clearly as could be, drinking in the sight of her sister's frazzled hair, tamed stubbornly into tiny plaits as always, and her mother's lined face, her kindly bright eyes speaking so much for the woman of such few words. She had never been a talker, her mother. Her sister, on the other hand, could not be made silent for all the jade of Yi Ti.

How she missed them. Seeing them today had brought back the fierce ache, dulled after so long until now.

She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hands as tears started to trickle down her cheeks. She had wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, illusion or not, but had been brought back to reality all too soon.

Meeting Daenerys and Rhaego had brought her hope, where it had died inside her so long ago; a will to live, a cause to live for. Yet, faced with her loved ones in that strange room she wondered if she could not just join them. How easily she could tear away into the chamber where she had seen them once more and be welcomed by her family's embrace. Feel her mother's arms around her. Laugh at her sister's funny stories.

She sniffed and felt Daenerys' eyes dart to her face at the sudden noise where all had been silent, flushing furiously she pulled herself together. Which was made all the more difficult when she felt the feather light touch of the queen's hand grasping her should gently. She fought to hold it together.

Nagis turned her head slightly and met the heated sympathy in the queen's expression, feeling fresh tears burn at her eyes. It was so difficult to be strong when faced with such affection.

"My family," she murmured thickly, by way of an explanation.

Daenerys nodded and smiled sadly, depths of understanding shining from her deep purple eyes. "It is most difficult to have our loved ones dangled before us, only to walk away."

Nagis nodded, her throat tight. She did not trust herself to talk for fear a desperate sob would replace actual words, should she try.

Daenerys squeezed her tiny shoulder bracingly. "We must live the best life we can, for them," she said as a distant look came to her face. "Make them proud of us, Nagis, and in that way we shall do right by those who wait for us in the realms of the dead."

"But I miss them," she blurted out. She looked up at Daenerys pleadingly, as if the queen of dragons could somehow bring her family back and Daenerys' heart broke for her.

"I miss my family too," she admitted, her eyes shimmering with an ocean of her own unshed tears.

Nagis shook herself mentally for being so pathetic in front of this woman she idolised, this queen, and swallowed the rest of her tears. "Well, we shall bring your family back for you, my queen," she promised with determination. "You shall have your dragons in your arms before night fall." Nagis laughed nervously, "if there aren't too many more corridors…"

Daenerys drew the girl into a fierce embrace. "Thank you," she whispered gratefully. "For reminding me I still have family to fight for."

Nagis smiled bashfully.

Rhaego stirred. "Dragons," he murmured in his sleep.

Daenerys nodded. "He is right, we are not far now."

Nagis thrust her shoulders back and marched forward with refreshed vigour, much to Daenerys and Jorah's fond approval.

They came to another room, this one heavily bolted and oddly plain of engraving of any kind. Were it not for Daenerys' inner sense of how to get to the dragons, they would never have considered it a room of importance.

Jorah placed Rhaego softly on the floor next to Nagis, took out his longsword and began to hack at the wood surrounding the lock, sending splinters flying out in all directions, which Nagis hurriedly protected Rhaego from with her body as she crouched over him. He slept soundly on, snoring ever so slightly as she watched his little chest rise and fall. He was so small, she realised. Sometimes he seemed larger than life to the slave, but now, sprawled across the floor in a state of vulnerability she realised just how fragile this boy prince was.

When the door was open they walked into the dusty room, filled with cases upon cases of books and maps, scrolls and large pieces of papyrus filled with words in symbols none could read or recognise., Tentatively they entered, weary and frightened eyes darting around the room, expecting a surprise the likes of which had plagued them so far, yet there was none. It was only as they picked their way through the stacks of dry old tomes that they saw it, set carelessly among other paperweights strewn across a desk of solid oak.

An egg, its gem-like exterior a deep, cobalt blue shot through with flecks of silver. Daenerys gasped and Nagis cried out in wonder, never having seen a dragon egg before. Jorah merely exhaled and bent his knee, rolling Rhaego back to the ground gently and causing him to wake up fully. The speckles of dust shimmered around the egg as they shifted and danced it in the flickering light of the torches.

"Egg?" the boy asked, his eyes squinting as they adjusted to being open once more. He staggered to his feet and was the first to approach it, reaching out with both hands as he waddled across the room.

It was warm in his hands, too heavy for him to pick up and it thrummed with an energy which he quickly tapped into, Nagis could tell by the tilt of his head, the same mannerism as when communicating psychically with his own dragons. She envied him that, how she would love to talk with such majestic creatures.

_"Are you a dragon?"_ Rhaego sent, excitement bubbling up inside him as he felt the life pulse of the luminous orb through his very finger tips.

_"Are you?"_ it returned, bringing a weak smile to the exhausted boy's face.

"It alive." He turned and told them all earnestly. His eyes drooped, his face could not mange to hold the smile for long and before he knew it he was staggering to the ground once more, weakened by his short walk. Nagis was by his side to catch him, quick as lightning, fretting over her prince until he waved her away with a feeble hand.

_"Come find me,"_ it sent, weaker this time as the egg itself began to fade away, much to Rhaego's shock. _"I await the true dragon. I rest in the Smoking Sea, a memory of a time long past. Find me, Rhaego. Bring me back to life."_

"Muna?" Rhaego yelped as the egg faded away to nothing in his outstretched hands. "Egg..."

The message had shocked Daenerys too, who had no idea there were yet more dragon eggs in this world. Was it a trap? Was this Pree's doing to send them on a damned errand? She had heard of the Smoking Sea, the broken remains of an empire long gone where it was said men feared to venture and none returned. This was a clever trap indeed, were it truly Pree's doing, as her son would now move mountains to rescue this egg. Curse Pree and his projections. Daenerys doubted that the blasted egg was even real, she could not put anything past their nemesis.

Yet it had wormed its way into Rhaego's heart, this little faded egg, and so the damage had been done.

"We will first rescue our own dragons," she pronounced heavily. She then sighed and indicated with a subtle flick of her chin for Jorah to grab Rhaego again, for he was swaying worryingly from exhaustion. She could not hide the fear, bright and anxious in her eyes as she looked to her son, but she had faith in his strength and the healing power of their dragons. When they found them.

It was even more vital they rescue them soon, she knew, watching Rhaego flop like a flatbread in her knight's arms.

"Can you watch over Rhaego for me, sweet one?" she asked Nagis, as she was worried and needed someone to keep eagle sharp eyes on her son. She would rather not give the girl the burden of dragging the captives, Daenerys would take responsibility for that job, she was a queen. This left only her to keep a watch over her son and Daenerys trusted the girl and her love of Rhaego enough to entrust her with monitoring him. For now. She had discovered the hard way that no one could be fully trusted.

Nagis nodded, gazing at the knight and boy before her with a determined glint in her eyes. She would not let her Queen or Prince down. "Yes, my queen."

She did not take her eyes off of Rhaego for a second, following the rest of the party with a few missteps and clumsy moments as they made their way through the library room and to a hatch door, leading down into what was probably the underbelly of the House of the Undying.

"This is it, I can feel it." Daenerys knelt down to the crisscrossed wooden hatch and lay her palm across it, closing her eyes with a deep concentration, as if listening to something far away. Nothing. She could neither hear nor feel the dragons. Stabs of frustration coursed through her and she grit her teeth, certain that this was the correct place and unwilling to be wrong about something so important. Not after they had come all this way. Not after the toll it had taken on them all.

Her eyes flickered reluctantly to her broken son.

_No, this had to be it!_ she fumed inwardly. _No more dead ends._

_"My children,"_ she sent desperately. _"Hear my call!"_

Nothing.

"Where are they?" she growled at Doreah in a whirl of rage, yanking her chain with a sharp, abrupt tug. The girl was only just coming to from being knocked out, her head groggy and eyes unfocused, and she did not answer.

_"Mother,"_ a tiny voice sent out. Muffled and distorted, it did not feel like her dragons but she did not know who else it could be. Her mind tingled somehow, as if on edge, and she risked reaching out to the voice in return.

_"Where are you?"_ She fumbled with clumsy hands at the hatch, wincing at splinters but continuing relentlessly. Her hands scrabbling for a hold of the large, solid wooden doorway leading to her only hope at rescuing her dragons. If she was wrong and they were not down there all was lost. They could not go on much further, not with Rhaego struggling so.

_"Behind you,"_ the voice snarled loudly in her mind, causing her to flinch. She spun around with wide eyes and cried out in a mixture of fear and shock to see Pree standing behind them, a smile cracking his face.

Jorah lay unconscious on the floor, the veins on his temple sticking out unnaturally, and Rhaego was slumped over Pree's shoulder, limp. A vicious stream of curses, some Daenerys did not recognise, flowed from Nagis, who was suspended in mid air, her stick thin arms swiping with futile anger at the space before her, her eyes locked on Pree with desperate rage. Pree laughed softly before discarding the child to one side and watching with fascination as her tiny body collided with the wall of this narrow corridor, bringing a squeak from her before she slumped to the ground, silent and possibly broken.

"No!" Daenerys cried in outrage, glancing between Jorah, Nagis and her son, torn. She saw Rhaego stir ever so slightly and made her choice, rushing at Pree, terrified he would succeed in plucking her final child from her grasp.

"Ah, ah ah," he chided mockingly, raising a hand and stopping her in her tracks. Every muscle froze, including those in her throat. She could not speak, could not even breath, let alone tackle the smug warlock who stood before her to the ground and fight for her son. Her lungs started to burn with lack of fresh oxygen and tears welled up in her eyes as she watched Pree weave his way around her cheerfully, moving slowly towards the hatch and opening it before disappearing down into its depths and closing it behind him, her son in tow.

_Rhaego, no!_ Every cell in her body cried out, yet she was stilled by his magic. She tried to fight against it, regain control of her body, push her muscles to obey her, but she managed not a hair's breadth of progress.

_"You amuse me, little khaleesi,"_ Pree's voice caressed her mind, sickening her to her very core._ "Because of this I shall allow you to live, for now."_

Just like that his grasp on her was gone and she fell to the floor in a shuddering heap, gasping desperately for air and feeling the sting of tears as they flowed freely down her cheeks. He had her dragons and now he had taken her son. Sobs racked her body and there she stayed, discarded on the floor feeling weak and hollow, surrounded by her faithful followers, who were now both unconscious, and Doreah, who was quickly coming to and tugging weakly at her chains.

"This is all your fault," Daenerys accused with bloodshot, merciless eyes as she rounded on Doreah weakly.

Doreah, too weak to argue, held her hands to her face and whimpered. "Mercy, please khaleesi." Her voice was hoarse and her words broken in places with stuttering, almost incoherent.

Flames ran through Daenerys' blood. She felt the furious rage take hold and for a moment she imagined the satisfaction she would get from destroying this wretch. Attacking her. Hitting her until she could get rid of that pretty face for good. Yet that was not dignified, nor was it behaviour fitting for a queen, so she fought down her impulses and growled at the woman, her one time friend, to stand.

"We will find them together, but this I promise," and she met Doreah's eyes for the first time since her betrayal without anger overwhelming her only cold apathy, "there shall be no mercy. You shall meet your end, Doreah, but for the love I once bore you I shall make sure that it is quick."

There, a mercy of sorts. She felt satisfied that she had risen above her base desires to give a fair judgement to this traitor. She also felt satisfied that she had held herself together where the lure of vengeance would have made it so easy to come undone. She even felt satisfied that she had done right by both the memory of Irri but also the memory of her friendship with Doreah. None of these progressive feelings, however, could allay the dread of fear which had now grown not just for her dragons, but for her son.

_He is so weak_. Her hand trembled as she led Doreah forwards towards the hatch with an expression of stone._ So defenseless against this monster._ Her grip on the chains tightened and the scratch of metal being ground against metal was sharp in her ears._ I will not let Pree have him._ She clenched her teeth together fiercely as anger boiled up inside her at the thought of this man doing anything to hurt her child. All that was left in this world of Drogo.

"Khaleesi?" Jorah rasped weakly from the ground, straining to raise his head and watch what she was doing.

"Wait for me here, my knight," she ordered gently, her heart tightening as her eyes met the faithful determination in his. "Look after Nagis and gain your strength back. I shall go the rest of the way alone." She spoke with more confidence than she felt.

"No, I must protect you," he protested, pushing himself up with what little strength he had remaining.

"You already have. Now you must wait."

"Khaleesi-"

"No," she insisted stubbornly, pining him down with her most commanding glare.

"Dany," he pleaded, struggling to his feet before falling back to the ground, dazed.

She frowned. "I said no. Do you defy me, knight?"

Defeated he turned baleful eyes upon her and it took all of her will to refuse him this heartfelt request. Her faithful and staunch advisor. The closest thing she had to a father figure. "Take care of yourself and Nagis until my return," she repeated, with more of an edge in her voice this time.

Defeated, he nodded once. "As always I am yours to command, khaleesi."

She gave him a tight smile and turned back to the hatch door, trying to picture in her memory how Pree had opened it, desperate for a clue.

Doreah knelt down and, with shaking fingers worked the clasps in a way which caused them to click open. She looked up at Daenerys, pleading in her eyes.

Daenerys, startled slightly, worked the hatch open once more and felt the chill of the underground passageway embrace her. "This changes nothing, Doreah." Her tone was ice.

Doreah nodded miserably and allowed herself to be pulled to the ladder, whimpering as Daenerys made her climb down the flimsy, unsteady rope contraption with bound hands. Once Doreah was down a sufficient way Daenerys, chains in hand so her maid could not run away, lowered herself down onto the ropes and gave Jorah a last glance. The knight smiled encouragingly and she nodded back at him, smoothing out her expression to hide the fear that lurched inside her at each sway and shudder of the ladder. Doreah may whimper, but Daenerys would give no indication she was so weak.

She was a Targaryen.


End file.
